A Matter of Heart
by Jolinar773
Summary: It's common knowledge Arthas Menethil ended up being the black sheep. But is he realy the one to blame? There were powers in motion no one could have predicted and he just happened to play right into their hands...
1. Old Friend

**Ha! This has been rotting on my HDD for a very long time... and it's still not finished, though most of it is already somehow done :) **

**Anyways, this is kind of a tribute to Arthas Menethil, taking place after the Battle of Light's Hope (Death Knight origin) and the Wrathgate and going throught the whole time between these events and the final Fall of the Lich King :) There seemed to be nobody mourning for him (I cried a lot actually :)) and since there is no way to get rid of that pathetic golden statue of Asbringer in the middle of Dalaran, I decided to pay homage to my beloved blondie this way... :)**

**And also it's rated M for the next chapter... you'll see why *winks*  
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**Hope you will enjoy it and leave some reviews! :) Criticism and suggestions welcomed as well :)**

**P.S. I'm not a native speaker, so please bear with me! :)  
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**Old Friend**

It began to snow. She watched the pure-white snowflakes falling down from a clouded, stormy-grey sky, settling upon a mass of structures scattered all over the valley below her. The snow thickened, wind began blowing around her, carying the stinging, chilly flakes along as if attepting to hide those horrid monstrosities from sight.

In her oppinion the attempt failed miserably.

A huge, half-build skeleton of a Necropolis moved slightly under the continuing pressure of the wind. A pair of thick, metal chains held it in place, hovering above one of three Ziggurats, placed strategicaly on the edge of a plane overseeing the entire first part of the valley. The sound of the wind now matched the howling of thousands of mortal souls being consumed by a large, dark-violet crystals atop of each Ziggurat - a power source for its defences.

A mild blizzard now sat upon the frozen wasteland of Icecrown, however it might have as well been just a breeze for all the attention it recieved from the vast armies marching across the valley. They could not hear it, they could not see it and they could not feel it, ror they were the army of the Scourge. Blight upon the lands of Northrend, hordes of undead, rotting remains of once noble dragons, gryphons, warriors, mages, barbarians as well as kings. All who had fallen in all the battles fought with this arch enemy of all living things were raised again to serve in the enemy's front lines in undeath. Thousands of hundreds of minions, driven by single thought and single will, led by a single master, once serving the whims of the demon lords of the Burning Legion – The Lich King.

He was once known as Ner'zhul, an orc warlock and shaman who did not meet the expectations of his demonic masters and his punishment was to be torn out of his body and cursed into an enchanted armour as well as a runeblade Frostmourne and trapped within a block of ice from the Twisting Nether. Given the powers over the death itself, the new entity was to serve forever as a puppet for those it had failed as a mortal being.

Aware of his getting stronger with each reanimated corpse, the Lich King suspected, that once he had served his purpose, he will be destroyed. To prevent that, he needed a champion. Someone willing to do what was necessary. Someone willing to choose a lesser evil for the greater good. Someone with great skill and training in the ways of body and mind.

And he found such an individual - a human prince, rash, passionate and hot-headed but strong and able to be the one to free Ner'zhul from his frozen prison.

The Lich King tore off a part of the ice encasing him and threw the frozen runeblade away so that the human prince could find and use it. It should have been a promise of all he ever wanted... and it was. The blade's curse corrupted the young prince, turning him against everyone and everything he ever knew and making him a traitor, an outcast, a shell of humanity – the first of the death knights- going mad by the voice of his enslaver, whispering all he wanted to hear.

And as the Lich King foretold, not so long after the Battle of Mount Hyjal, where the Burning Legion suffered yet again -just like ten thousand years ago- a crushing defeat, Illidan Stormrage have been sent by Kil'Jaeden to shatter his icy prison and undo the Scourge once and for all.

Knowing obout this treachery, the Lich King prepared to stand against his creators. But there was one thing he had not forseen. Illidan, with the knowledge of Gul'dan, whose skull gave him the power almost equal to that of a demon lord, used an ancient artifact – the Eye of Sargeras- to raze the whole continent of Northrend to the ground. Before he could be stopped, his spell managed to fracture the already damaged Frozen Throne and the Lich King's energy began leaking out at an alarming rate. He recalled his death knight champion to ensure the survival of both of them.

With the last act of defeating Illidan Stormrage at the foot of the Icecrown Glacier, Arthas Menethil completed the cirlce, prepared for him by the Lich King. He used Frostmourne to shatter the ice encasing his master and put on the armour, thus merging their two spirits into a new powerful being.

For five long years he dreamed inside the glacier, having his minions build the Icecrown Citadel around him. Slowly Arthas' will destroyed the last remnants of Nerz'hul in the process, taking his place as a dominant personality of the Lich King, however not without the loss of his own being. He became as much of a slave to the Lich King as the Lich King was to him –compromises being the only thing keeping them from falling apart. And now he finally awakened, prepared to wreak havoc among the mortal races of Azeroth once again.

She closed her eyes, trying to get the image of a smiling, golden-haired youth with see-green eyes out of her mind and looked once more upon the hordes of the Scourge. They were walking tirelessly back and forth to obey their master's wishes, blind to the storm rampaging around them, soulless reanimated corpses...

She could not take to watch any longer. As her eyes turned about the Crusader's Pinnacle a man came forward and stood beside her. The heat of life emiting out of him was overwhelming. She looked into his bright green eyes and was not surprised to see disgust and revoltion -though well masked- reflecting upon his gaze. He gripped tightly the handle of a massive, dwarven made, two-handed sword, said to be the bane of any undead creature unfortunate enough to get in its way. Its core made from an enchanted stone, used by an orc warlock during the Second War and found by a human general by the name of Alexandros Mograine.

The Ashbringer glittered at her maliciously. The history of this sword was at least as interesting and bloody as that of the Frostmourne. These two swords were enemies since the day they stood against each other - light and darkness; good and evil; paladins and death knights... yet they were the two sides of the same coin, as were their wielders.

She grinned at the man provocatively and his grip around the Ashbringer's handle tightened. Not even the coming of another man could disrupt the tension building up between them as they watched each other's every move, untill he coughed loudly and that odd sound made her look over her shoulder.

This man was different from the one wielding the Ashbringer, even though he too was familiar with its blade for he was its previous master. His aura felt cold and somehow painful. Despite his young age, he reminded her of an old man much more then the other one, who actually already passed the zenit of his life. Both of them had experienced much pain and suffering throughout their lives, however as one was driven by righteousness and Light guided his path, only hatred and desire for revenge have been the other man's companions.

In his gaze there was nothing that could tell her what he was thinking. He did not look at her, his eyes were fixed upon the moving hordes below them and she could swear in that moment, she saw a dark shadow move across his still handsome face. He looked quickly away as if frightened of what he was seeing and handed her the reins of a beautiful, golden gryphon with pearl-white wings.

The beast did not seem to like her touch even a bit more that it did his, but it had been trained well enough to believe his masters would not let it come to harm. She mounted it with a sigh, casted protective barrier against the storm and nodded at the two men standing infront of her, before soaring high into the air.

She intended to take her time, circling the Broken Front, where necromancers of the Lich King used their magic to rise more and more corpses of soldiers of the Horde and Alliance alike, left behind after the last battle, to fight for the Scourge.

Her commands made the gryphon rise high into the sky where a frostwyrm was about to cross their path. The undead dragon did not seem to see them maneuvering infront of its boney head as they followed it over the top of Mor'drethar. However it soon changed its course, heading somewhere towards Sindragosa's Fall. She turned her gryphon around and finally pointed it in the direction of Malykryss, where -hiden in the shadows- stood the Icecrown Citadel, towering over every other Scourge structure like a beacon, daring anyone bold enought to think about entering it, to try.

They began loosing altitude as she directed the gryphon to land on the cold steps of the Court of Bones, leading inside the Citadel. She then released the beast and continued on foot up the stairs, towards an Argent Crusade's outpost, right infront of a broken gate to the Icecrown Citadel. The crusaders have been informed of her arrival, yet they could not apparently help themself not to look at her with loathing and even the death knights among them seemed uncomfortable by her presence. However, she could not care less. She had her mission and there was nothing they could do about it. She laughed derisively from within the cape of her blood-red cloak and proceeded inside the Lich King's palace.

o.O.o

The tip of Frostmourne's blade sunk deep into the cold, stone floor covered in ice. It cracked slightly under the pressure. The Lich King dropped to one knee, brathing heavily, cluthing his chest in pain. Had he any blood left in him, he would now be coughing it out, he was sure of it. What he did not understad was why he was feeling this way –why he could _feel_ anything at all. He, who was to be the most powerful being of all, who had taken every precaution to ensure his immortality -and with Frostmourne in his hands even invincibility- has now found himself in so much pain, like the last living human peasant.

„Master!" he heard a voice, trembling with fear as the Val'kyr battle maiden flew towards him.

She stopped abruptly as he looked up at her, eyes searing with rage. Not towards her but towards himself for showing such weakness infront of her.

„Get... out..." he whispered dangerously, propping himself up again with difficulty. „NOW!"

The Val'kyr obeyed immediately, knowing better than to oppose his orders. Her etherial, black wings dissapeared behind the corner as she descended the spiral starcase, leading to a pinnacle at the very top of Icecrown Glacier.

The Lich King sat heavily onto the frozen throne and put his arms on his knees, head bowed. What the hell was wrong with him? It was not like what had happened five years ago, when his life was leaking out of the crack in the ice, no... this felt more intense and much more excruciating.

His thoughts wandered to the moment, when he felt similar weakness for the first time– the rebellion of Darion Mograine and his death knights. He had thought he predicted all the possible outcomes of the attack on Light's Hope Chapel but he did not intend it to end up like this. The Ashbringer should have remained corrupted in the hands of the last of Mograines, in service of the Scourge and Fordring should have died by its blade. But something went wrong. Terribly wrong.

The only blade as powerful as Frotmourne itself was now in the hands of his enemy and one of his best lieutenants left along with it, betraying his master. Since then, everything the Lich King did went as wrong as it actually could.

Gloved hands clenched in angry fists. Now the very enemy he thought he had destroyed long ago was knocking at the very gates to his domain. Strenghtened by his own forces.

Deep within his own thoughts, the Lich King noticed the Val'kyr coming back just a few seconds before she was thrown to his feet, screaching with pain.

„What-?" he looked up, eyes narrowing.

A dark figure loomed from the shadows, walking towards him, slowly, with elegance known only to one race of Azeroth.

„Hello, Arthas. Or should I say ‚Your Majesty' now?" her voice carried to him like the most beautiful of songs and he found himself familiar with it, though he was not able to remember the face, however hard he tried.

„How did you get here?" he asked sharply, pulling the Frostmourne out of the floor and pointing it at the uninvited guest.

„Walked throught the front door, of course. Or what is left of it." she responded calmly as if it was the most logical thing in the world. „Would it be better, had I entered through the balcony? Or a window perhaps?" She looked about, an eyebrow raised.

There were no windows or balcony... in fact there was no anything. Just four icy spikes along the edge of the pinnacle, pointing up into the clear, stellar sky. True, had she wanted to, she could simply fly up here and land infront of his very nose.

She smiled jingly at him. Arthas felt his temper rising.

„A sharp tongue, but that will not save you. I would think Tiron smarter than this. You will become a fine asset to my army."

As he spoke, delight tinting his somehow distorted voice, Arthas raised Frostmourne, prepared to strike this little cocroach for mocking him and she lifted her hood... and the Lich King froze on the spot.

Her face was that of a high-elf, beautiful yet somehow sad. Her skin the color of a seashell, freshly washed onto a sun-litted shore, dominated by jet-black hair tied to a bun on the back of her head and dark, full lips. Eyes like sparkling blue diamonds - just like his own.

He felt as if he was looking into a mirror. Not the face but the eyes and an aura of immense power surrounding her, gave him the impression of standing before his equal.

„I am afraid 'tis a little late for that as you can see." she said and there was a tiny bit of sandess in her soft, singing voice.

„Keri'el ..." Frostmourne's blade shook imperceptibly and lowered slowly.

She did not let him speak. „And you are correct, I have been sent here by two of our... mutual friends to find a way to destroy you."

The Lich King scowled, stepped back and pointed the runeblade at her once more.

„Although," she continued impatiently. „I have no wish to do so."

Keri'el removed the sword from his hand with a single, quick movement and took off his helmet. Arthas' face looked like a sculpture of surprise, shock and disbelief. However, there was also something else beyond all that. Something she had not seen in a very long time. Something she had hoped to find there. Relief washed over her, putting her mind at piece at least for a short while.

Her palm gently touched his cheek, it was cold like death itself.

„Come. There is much we need to talk about. But first get off the armour, I am most uncomfortable with it looking at me."


	2. Lost and Found

***huffs, wiping sweat of her forhead* I couldn't bring myself to correct this piece for the life of me Y_Y Nevertheless, it's finally here and I hope you are all going to enjoy it and leave some nice reviews and such...**

**Also there is a little more detailed fluff at the end of the chapter, so if you don't like the stuff, just skip to the last three paragraphs and you'll be just fine :) For the rest of you, I hope you're gonna like it, cause this is my first hetero lemon and I'm afraid I couldn't visualize it quite as clearly as I would wish to :D**

**Have fun! And review! :)  
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**Lost and Found**

„You... stupid... little... human!" surprisingly heavy blows fell on every bit of Arthas' no-longer-armoured body with each word, forced through gritted teeth and it startled him so, that he did not have a chance to shield himself with his arms properly. „ What have you done? Do you enjoy playing a hero? Have I tought you nothing? I have never seen such idiocy in-" another blow to the head. „-my-" one more to the stomach. „-life!" the last swing of her small fist hit Arthas' back with such force, it knocked the breath out of him. And then it stopped as suddenly as it had started and he looked up.

Keri'el stood there, infront of him, panting, fists still clenched, heavy breaths coming out of her mouth in white puffs. Anger and rage dancing in her eyes.

The ridiculousness of the sight now arising before his eyes would made him chuckle had he been able to. There he was, the Lich King, the most powerful being this world has ever seen, getting scolded like a disobedient child by his old tutor. Little elven girl at that. Unbelievable. What was it all about anyway? Was she angry with him for becoming what he was? For picking up the Lich King's helmet all those years ago, when he realized it was the only way? For wanting more power and thinking he could control it? Did she truly think he was happy with this damned existence? Maybe in the beginning... after merging with Nerz'hul, the shear, raw, immense power bewitched his senses and he could not help to succumb to it like the human prince he was. But now, as the intoxitation had all but evaporated, he realized his will was the only thing keeping the Scourge at bay. The only thing standing between Azeroth and it's total anihilation. And the more he tried to sever the links with what once was Arthas Menethil, to be able to maintain the fragile control over the Lich King within him, the more he became unable to do so.

Another familiar voice rang in his ears. Uther the Lightbringer.

„_I dearly hope that there is a special place in hell waiting for you, Arthas!"_

And his own reply came like a slap in the face.

„_We may never know, Uther. I intend to live forever."_

Arthas stared into Keri'el's enraged face, his left eye twitching imperceptibly in anticipation. However the storm seemed to have already passed. He watched as the fury slowly began leaving her body, she relaxed, closed her eyes and regained full control over her emotions once again.

She did not look at him or said anything regarding what had just happened. Instead, the raven-haired elf picked up the Lich King's armour as if it was something recently dead and dumped it outside the door. Without Arthas to give it a form, it was but a pile of enchanted metal.

More out of reflex than anything else, the human prince reached out to take it back, opening his mouth to protest, however she resolutely closed the door infront of his nose. He felt agitated, anxious and somehow lost. He could not understand what was happening. Why was he feeling the urge to obey her every command? Why was he doing so without questions? Why could he hear her whispers echoing in his mind? Now he was beginning to understand what it means to be a warrior of the Scourge, left with no other choice but to listen and do what they were told.

And there was only one explanation for all this. She must have possessed the powers of the Lich King himself. But how could that be? Arthas had so many questions swirling madly in his strangely confused and almost _human_ mind. He wanted to know and explain everything to her, but his body still ached, where she had punched him and the last thing he wished for was more of the beating.

„Well, this is much better, no?" Keri'el clapped her hands as if getting rid of something filthy, her voice steady and calm.

Arthas took a deep breath and now, upon her asking so bluntly, he realized what she meant. After five years of being the Lich King, there were no other voices in his mind, apart from the gentle whisper of her thoughts. No more struggling, no more compromises. But without him preventing the Scourge from running loose...

He attempted to force the door open, however she leaned back against them and refused to move even a bit. He folded his arms on his chest and began pacing across the room. „You do not understand. I need to get that back! Without it..."

Keri'el laughed in amusement.

„Oh, but I do understand more than you think." she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and magic swept around them like a fresh, Eversong breeze, changing the very nature of their frozen surroundings so that when Arthas looked about again, he saw ice melting and freezing again, turning into curtains, cushions appearing out of thin air and high, wooden bookshelves, filled with roles of parchment and old books, covering the walls.

In a matter of seconds the hall had changed into the exact same study she always used for their tutoring, back in the palace of Lordaeron so many lifetimes ago. Even his own black, linen clothes had turned into a dark-blue velvet garment with two crossed silver swords a hammer and a shield with ornate, golden L etched onto his chest – the symbol of Lordaeron.

„Listen to my thoughts and you will see."

And Arthas did as she told him and understood. It was she, who was controling the undead hordes... no, that was not right. She was chaneling her will through his own, _helping_ him to control them, without any contact with the Lich King whatsoever. But how...?

The question only began forming in his mind, when she smiled and responded. „We will get to it. But first, let us start from the beginning." Keri'el rummaged through the curves of her robe, pulling out an ornated silver lockbox.

Arthas looked at it and a very strange noise came out of his half-opened lips. He laughed. More and more, like a madman and then, in an instance the laughter changed into sobs and hot, salty drops began falling down his cheeks and onto the marble flagstones as he dropped to his knees, hair curtaining his marbel face in snow-shite strands. He was crying his heart out like he had never done before in his life. Images of all that had happened since the first time Scourge appeared in his homeland flashing through him mind like some kind of very poorly made horror movie and he was unable to look away or make it stop.

His own soldiers -many of them he knew for years- curling up in agony all around him, just to stand up again, twisted in undeath and raise weapons against those they had once called brothers; Kel'thuzad's choking laughter when his broken body fell under the blow of Arthas' hammer; blood of Terenas Menethil, gushing out of the piercing wound just above his clavicle, where Arthas sank Frostmourne's blade deep into his fathers throat and the face of Jaina Proudmoore -most vivid of all- her large, forget-me-not-blue eyes swelled with tears, dropping down her cheeks as she refused to accompany him to Northrend and he accused her mercilessly of breaking her promise never to deny him. He was overwhelmed by remorse, guilt, shame and pity so strong, it felt like he was falling apart. What had he done?

A gentle hand touched his chin and lifted his head. Keri'el was looking at him, her face the mask of pain and sorrow. She kneeled beside him and opened the lockbox. A blood-red heart lay inside on a white cushion, beating with life. Arthas could not help but stare at it, perplexed, a strange warmth running through his body and into his soul – the very thing he lost the moment he seized Frostmourne's handle.

„While I was tutoring you and your sister back in Lordaeron, we have shared something very special. But of course I could not possibly get romantically involved with a teenage boy or they would send me to the gallows for violating the crown prince."

Her voice was soft and calm as she spoke, quietly and Arthas listened, however his eyes were still fixed upon the beating heart. He remembered those times as one would remember another lifetime.

„There also was a special someone for you as well and I could not interfere with the events that were yet to come to pass. When you realized your feelings towards Jaina, I was glad the problem solved on its own, but I had not anticipated two things. The first being your ability to divide and differ your love between two women and the second, the role you were asigned to play in the furute. I had no idea what you were about to become and I regret deeply I had not tried to warn you, to stop you, when I realized what was happening." she heaved a heavy sigh and for a moment, Arthas thought he heard a hitch of breath before she continued.

„I watched your progress since Stratholme. I saw you find the Frostmourne, succumb to its curse and use it to kill your own father and as you were slowly turning into one of the Lich King's lackeys, I could feel it affecting me as well, though somehow I could not hear his voice as clearly as you could. At that time I did not understand why that was. As I watched you sending your troops to their doom at the battle for Light's Hope five years later and the distaster at the Wrathgate, I made up my mind and contacted Darion Mograine and Tirion Fordring. I persuaded them that only I can get to you close enought for them to make a move, for only I knew about the heart you so foolishly cut out. What I did not tell them, however, was that the heart was no longer yours. The only thing remaining was a part of my heart and soul linked to it, from when you gave me yours those many years ago."

Arthas looked up at her like he had never seen her before. He did not uderstand anything anymore. And as if she could read the questions written all over his face, she smiled gently.

„As I said, I underestimated the feelings we shared. I thought you were just an adorable little kid going through a particularly wild phase of puberty and I tried my best to show it but as the time went by I realized how terribly wrong I was. Not just about your true feeling... but mine as well. You probably remember what you said to me when I was leaving Lordaeron?"

Arthas nodded. The memory filled his mind, vivid as if it was only yesterday.

They were standing by the wall of the courtyard of Palace of Lordaeron. She was different then. Her skin was like a peach and her hair fiery when she looked at him, surprised, with those glittering, blue eyes so distinctive for all the high-elves. Arthas had just came back from his initiation into the Order of the Silver Hand. Fully-fledged paladin now he was, so happy about it, he arrived early and they almost collided with each other as she tried to leave before his return.

He stubbornly insisted on escorting her at least part of the way and so they made their way through Tirisfal Glades, silent. No sooner they reached Brill, when Arthas finally spoke and his voice was agitated, when he had asked why she tried to sneak out of the castle. Keri'el then told him it had to be that way. Her services were no longer necessary.

They were staring at each other for, what felt like hours, listening only to the soft clapping of hooves on the well-trodden path. Then she grinned broadly and an icy glow enveloped her hand. The next thing the blond prince knew, a snowbolt headed his way. He jumped off the horse's back just in time for it to fly harmlessly where his face had been just a second before.

Keri'el had made her point. There was nothing left for her to teach him.

Talking about many things, including his ceremony and her next stop on her way to Quel'Thalas, Arthas escorted the elven mage as far as the bridge across Thondroril River –or what was now known as the border of Eastern and Western Plaguelands- and there they parted. Before she left him behind, however, she had said something he now vividly remebered.

„Jaina is a girl you will find only once in a lifetime." and she cought him off guard, for he had never spoken to anyone about his feelings towards the young mage. „Do not forget the duty to your heart."

And Arthas heard himself reply. „I am not going to. But I mean it when I say, that part of it will always belong to you."

And as his own response from so long ago echoed in his mind, the very same words left his lips even as he sat there, looking into her beautiful face once again, both of them bearing scars that will never truly heal.

„Yes," Keri'el sighed. „And by saying that you performed a very old ritual that had created a very powerful magical bond between us. You see, my people are a passionate race. We love and hate for the rest of our lives, which may very well be for thousands of years. I did not anticipate this could happen between one of us and a mortal. So, when you gave me that important part of your heart and soul and I left mine with you and Frostmourne rob you of the rest, a piece of it still survived within me. And the Lich King had probably never intended to affect anyone else the way he did you so that his power was not strong enough to get me fully under his control as well. Not when he began loosing his powers anyway. It provided me with so much needed time to figure everything out and take action. I have used the link between us to transfer as much of the human prince left in you as possible and store it within the depths of my own heart –which made me partialy responsible for a few of your more brutal courses of action. However, I believed that one day it could be used as a key to your redemption. And I was right."

„_You_ robbed me of my humanity?" Arthas was not sure how to feel about it. He was glad she spared him the pain he would eventually have to go through, but angry for all those lives he had stolen only to see if there will be at least some kind of response from the thing one would call a conscience.

Keri'el sighed and noded apologetically.

„I am not sure if I should thank you or curse you." He said truthfuly. It did not matter now anyway. „But I still do not understand, why did you cut out your heart and brought it here?"

„Because only by extracting it from my chest and giving it back to you would I be able to save you from what you have become." She paused for a moment, thinking. „You have been feeling ill for some time now, is that right?"

Arthas' surprised face was enough of an answer.

„'Twas because of this heart. Even if the first reaction to something you had lost so long ago weakens you, the closer you come to it, the more you become yourself again." She showed him to a mirror by the door.

Looking into it, perplexed, Arthas touched his cheek and felt warmth. The contours of his face were no longer wrinkled, but smooth and his skin regained almost the exact shade of apricot it had when he was still alive. There stood the young crown prince of Lordaeron as if the past six years never happened.

Silver lockbox clinked as she put it on the vanity beside him. „As long as you yourself do not destroy this heart, you will be free again, Arthas. This is the least I can do to remdeem myself in your eyes."

The human prince reached up to run his fingers through his hair. It remained white and silky and somewhat cold on the touch. Was she suggesting what he thought she was? Would he be actually able to get his old life back? White brows wrinkled in a thoughtful frown and a ridiculous vision flashed through his mind.

„Wait... Do you really expect me to march out there?" he turned to her, motioning somehwere behind his back, out of the Citadel. „Maybe I should try to explain to Darion and the others that the last five years were just a misunderstanding? That I am an innocent victim of the Lich King's evil plot? Surely, they will welcome me back with opened arms and pledge their loyalty to me again, yes?" he had to laugh at that very idea.

„No, I do not expect you to do any such thing. Nor do I expect them to be so naïve." her voice hardened. Arthas stopped laughing. „In fact I do not remember ever saying anything about you becoming human again either."

„But you just said..."

„I _said_," she interupted him irritably. „That this heart will save you and help you in becoming yourself again. But it will not erase anything that had already happened, nor will it give you back your life. I have come here now, Arthas, because you are going to die. Your time is running short. And when you face your death, this living heart will free your soul so that it would not have to be imprisoned within these walls, forever wandering between the world of the living and the dead. This is the only way to your salvation."

He felt somehing heavy climbing up his insides, settling itself in the middle of his chest. He did not honestly expect to be given a second chance to live again. He was not even sure if he wanted to. The heart she brought showed him only a fraction of what he would have to deal with as a mortal being and even that was enough to stretch his pain tolerance to a breaking point. He was not brave enough to face it, nor could he possibly deal with what he had done, even by telling himself that he did what had to be done.

Moreover, there was no longer anything left for him to return to.

But right now, in this very moment he came closer the the human being he had once been than he would ever come. And there were so many things he would like to experience again.

Arthas smiled into the mirror and his brightly glowing eyes flared for a moment with the thought that had struck him. Again, he looked at her, mirth curling his now rose-pink lips. The elf kept staring blankly somewhere beyond the polished, wooden vanity, seemingly wandering deep within her own inner world of thought so that she looked completely unaware of her surroundings. And in that moment, he seemed to have forgotten everything -where he was, or what he was doing- helplessly lost in her captivating beauty. Small chin and a button-like nose, thin neck, beautiful chest, slim figure, long, divine legs...

In a fluent, swift motion, Arthas grabbed her by the wrists and pinned her against a wall. Apparently he managed to catch her by surprise as she did not have time to react before he pressed his lips against hers. Her eyes opened wide and for a moment it looked like she was going to resist. However her own will betrayed her and she was overwhelmed by the intesity of the kiss.

Her lips parted under his coaxing tongue and this time, lust and desire burned like dragon's flame between the two of them, about to incinerate them from within. His touch now felt warm as his hands slid from her wrists along elbows and onto her shoulders and still further south to her waist, hips and thighs, where he slowly began lifting her robes. Her arms crept around his neck and she was being hoisted up by a pair of strong arms and put gently on a huge, soft bed that was not there a few seconds before. As they lay down, he pulled her robes over her head with a yank and let it slip onto the floor.

Now dressed only in her underwear, the raven-haire elf smirked into his mouth and pressed her hands against his chest, pushing him onto his back. Her slender, nimble fingers slipped inside his garment, slowly taking it off, bit by bit. Through heavy breaths, he managed a moan as he leaned back, making it easier for her, enjoying the tips of her fingers curiously exloring every curve of every muscle on their way down to his waist and as her lips touched the bare skin of his hip, his fingers trailed down the cup her cheek. He sliped a hand beneath her chin and tilted her face up. His thumb gently caressed the softhenss of her lower lip. He wanted to prolong the sensation as much as possible and if she continued, he was not sure he would be able to withstand it for much longer.

He captured her mouth in yet another kiss, soft and sweet at first, like a freshly extracted honey. Only the slightest touch of lips against lips. Then it deepend and intensified and from the way she looked into his eyes, he could have sworn she was using her powers to subdue him, bending his conscience to her own will. But he did not care.

Suddenly his arms wrapped around her slender body and he pulled her up to stand on their knees, fingers trailing up and down her spine, reluctantly at first, as if afraid she might dissapear, was he not careful enough. When nothing happened, he let his hands slide down lazily, hovering over pelvic bone before making their way to the hem of her panties. A breathless groan left her parted lips and he pulled it off, however, she did not intend to let his insolence go unpunished.

It was only a matter of seconds before they both were naked. She drew even closer to him, lips tracing the outline of his jaw and cheek before settling to nible on his earlobe. That small, provocative gesture seemed to have immediate effect. Every single cell in his body ached from wanting her. His arms wrapped around her more firmly, one hand resting on her waist, the other slipping between her thighs, coaxing them apart. He used his weight to press her onto the sheets and his attention turned to any part of her body he could reach, not leaving out a single one.

He kissed his way down her neck, pausing to run his tongue along the clavicle before caressing her breasts with the dedication of an artist creating a life gen work. Her exited moans filled his ears and blinded his senses, encouraging him to move lower along her hips, hot breath marking the way into her lap.

She whimpered softly as he tasted her. The precision of his tongue spoke of experience she would never have expected. He touched exactly where she liked it the most, using agile and slightly cold fingers to boost the pleasure. She dipped her fingernails into a pillow, ripping it apart, biting lower lip to prevent herself from crying out his name. And each time she failed, it seemed to arouse him even more.

A sting of dissapointment invaded her lust-filled mind when he stopped, but it dissapeared in an instant as she felt his heating body pressing against her from behind, hand slithering along her slender form to grip a thigh and lift it up a little for him to have better access for the next step.

She gave in to his demands, accepting him inside without resistance, unable to hold a cry of pleasure any longer as he began to move within her, holding her steady and whispering sweet, sweet promises silently into her ear. She reacted and adapted to every little change he made. Followed his lead as he backed against a pillow and settled her on his lap -forehead buried in her bossom, hands caressing smooth, perfect skin of her exposed back- or laid down on the sheets, leaving her free reign.

She bent low to steal his lips in another passionate kiss, matching the strokes of their tongues with the movements of their heated bodies, feeling the sweet throbs of climax drawing nearer and nearer.

Her body went rigid, thighs firmly gripping his hips as he led them both over the edge before gravity reclaimed them and they were falling down into the stormy, cold waters of the deepest and most intense of earthly pleasures. His hands squeezed her hips firmly and only her quickly imprisoning their breathless panting within the depth of each other's mouth prevented any audible manifestation of the exquisite pleasure from getting out of control. However only barely.

And when the blissful moment had passed and the rest of the world began to creep back into their solitary room, she nestled against his chest, taking a deep breath.

With his eyes closed to enjoy every single bit of the fading afterglow of their coupling, Arthas held her as close to him as possible and with a whisper of thanks he kissed his lover's lips, as she looked up at him in surprise, for she did not expect it.

He smiled softly and in that moment, she knew that this can never happen again and a very strange and unsettling notion gripped it's icy fist around her throat. He craved for everything to end. Arthas actualy wanted to be defeated, conquered, to be killed. He was only looking for someone with enough strength to do it. But why? Has it been so much of a torment for him? For how long? The whole time maybe? Keri'el doubted he would answer her honestly, had she asked him. What scared her the most, however -even though she somewhat understood- was the fact that he wished for death like he had never wished for anything else. And that he was very well aware of the fact that another will have to take his place and for that unfortunate soul there may be no escape.

She curled up in his arm feeling his fingers curling through her raven strands. Maybe it was only her wild imagination mingled with memories suddenly filling her relaxing mind, but with her face pressed against the crook of his neck, she could smell horses and leather again. Just like when he was a boy, coming to her lessons very late on his way from the stables.

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**P.S.: Apologies for the possible OOCsness, cause I really wanted to give Arthie some kind of personality... and it will have it's uses in the upcoming chapters :)**


	3. Tirion's Gambit

**Well now, the 3rd chapter is up and there are few things I would like to add to those who do not play World of Warcraft since this fic is kinda based on the places and events of the game :) Since I don't wanna spoil it to you, I left the notes at the end of the chapter :)**

**Enjoy!**

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****Tirion's Gambit**

„Master, everything is ready." Val'kyr battle maiden bowed, hovering inches above the ice-covered ground, flapping her ethereal, white wings.

The Lich King sat silently on the Frozen Throne, thinking. After what seemed like hours of his gloved fingers rapping out the same rhytmical tones into the ice over and over again, he finally stood up and the Val'kyr moved quickly out of his way.

„Is there something else you are hesitant to tell me?" he asked, calmly yet there was was something in his voice that made her shiver with fright and jerk a little even though she stood her ground.

„Yes, master. There were... reports of the Argent Crusade preparing to attack the convoy, disguised as a group of our acolytes."

His brilliantly glowing eyes narrowed underneath the saronite helmet. „Who is leading them?"

„The human paladin, Highlord Tirion Fordring."

He sensed anxiety from her voice but decided to ignore it. If Fordring intended to march right into his very grasp, who was he to deny the old man his last wish? Paladins will never change after all. Impertinent, arrogant, overconfident and royally stupid, just as he used to be.

„What are your orders, master?" the Val'kyr asked reluctantly, as another couple of minutes passed in silence.

The Lich King strode across the Throne chamber, halting at the top of a spiral staircase, leading to the depths of the Icecrown Citadel. „Proceed as planned." he said without even looking at her. „I will see to it myself that my old friend recieves... a warm welcome." and he left in a swish of his heavy, black, fur cloak.

o.O.o

Keri'el was sitting in an armchair, leaning against a squashy, red velvet cushion, legs folded underneath her. Her concentration focused on three flasks infront of her, hovering about six feet obove an expensive-looking Persian carpet. One filled with emerald liquid, the other with what looked like crystal-clear water and at the bottom of the last one laid a small, pitch-black stone. She did not seem to have aknowledged Arthas' coming in, for the experiment required her full attention.

Five drops from the second flask fell onto the black stone, evaporationg instantly. Then she added half of the green liquid and the stone melted, leaving a deep-violet mixture of liquid and gass. With a single thought, she lifted the result of her actions a bit higher so that a beam of light from one of the orbs, levitating below the ceiling hit the substance and it flashed and the flask cracked open, it's contents dissolving into nothingness before making an unsightly puddle on the beautiful carpet.

Her brows knitted together in a dissaproving scowl and she snapped her fingers, making everything dissapear before conjuring all three flasks again with the intention to start over.

„Alright, I get it!" irritated, Arthas removed the Lich King's helmet, heaving an exasperated sigh. Every time, she stubbornly refused to speak to him untill he did so.

„Well then, our plan has been set in motion, I take it?" her experiment vanished with a pop as she turned to face him.

„Yes. And Fordring is coming as well, just as you said." he flunged himself heavily into another armchair, putting the helmet beside him, aquamarine jewel glittered in the dim light.

Keri'el glanced at it suspiciously for s few seconds, nostrills flaring slightly before once again turning her attention to her lover. „He is curious about whether or not there is still hope for you." she said seriously. „When he finds out there is none, he will probably attempt to destroy the heart in hope that it will wound you or even kill you."

„And will it?" Arthas raised a white eyebrow.

„I am not sure." voice jingling with humor, she stood up and settled herself on his lap. A little concerned about the slightly hopeful tone in his voice, though she might have just imagined it.

„And yet you seem awfuly calm about me dying in about fifteen minutes." his pretended blister turned the whole thing into a jest.

She waved her hand dismissively and kissed him on the lips. „I am not going to lie to you. The heart you are about to expose to them will have some effect on you. But do not worry, I doubt ´twill give you more than a little shudder... _because_ ´twas originally yours before you created the bond between us by giving part of it to me." the elf explained as the ivory-haired prince opened his mouth to argue, then jumped off his lap and picked up the Lich King's helmet.

For a moment Arthas expected her to throw it away or do something of that sort, but she only handed it to him with an unconvincing smile. „Now be a good host and go welcome our friends. I will be watching from here."

Keri'el returned to sit in her armchair and conjured a crystal orb, making it levitate above her opened palm. Image of Arthas, putting on the saronite helmet appeared within its depths, while the real man did exactly the same just a few steps away. Streaks of vapor emitting from his eyes, two glittering sapphires, the only things clearly visible beneath the visor.

She regarded him intently as he was leaving and for the first time since the day she had arrived here, she could not see the Lich King at all. Only the prince of Lordaeron, hidden beneath a cold, saronite mask.

The door closed behind him and a single tear trailed down her beautiful, elven face. This was most likely the last time they say each other he did not have the slightest idea - just as she intended.

Keri'el opened a drawer to her left and took out a quill and a piece of parchment. Taking a quick look into the crystal orb from time to time, she began writing. He deserved a full explanation and she did not have enought time –or courage- to give it to him as she was now.

o.O.o

Highlord Tirion Fordring marched into the Cathedral of Darkness, hiding his face beneath a hood of an acolyte of the Cult of the Damned, four of his faithful Crusaders and one Champion of the Argent Tournament trailing behind him as he made his way through innumerable skull-embroidered pillars supporting a high, domed ceiling hiding in darkness way above them, to stand by a long, stone bench to the left of an altar, where the High Invoker paced impatiently, waiting for something. Or someone. A procession of Cultists loomed out of the shadows of the Citadel's entrance, aproaching the the old necromancer, handing out to him the frozen heart of Arthas Menethil. Fordring knew, he needed to get closer in order to see for himself, if there was yet hope.

The occasion arrived shortly, as a dark, heavy pressence pressed against them like a fist trying to strangle the last breath out of their lungs. The Lich King had come and he knew they were here. Fordring scoweld slightly. He could not say he was completely surprised by the turn of events but at least he hoped this could go smoothly. In his mind he heard Darion Mograine, to whom he had spoken just before coming here:

‚_And just when did something go as smoothly as we would like?'_

Truer words have never been said. That was why he had brought the Ashbringer, even though had someone seen it, they would be revealed instantly. Now the old paladin knew he did the right thing, for with a bit of luck he will get a chance to end this war in a single strike.

The Lich King almost lazily walked along the center path, leading to the altar and came to a halt infront of the High Invoker, who held the heart to his master. But instead of taking it, Arthas turned his face towards a group of acolytes, standing only a few meters from him, heads bowed. One of them suddenly broke away and as he aproached the Lich King, he let his hood slip to reveal bearded, old face of Highlord Tirion Fordring. The others waited, though their eyes were fixed on the man and the king.

All fell silent, everyone watching intently the two of them.

„Uninvited guests. Did you think you would go unnoticed inside my dominion?" the Lich King's soft, deep voice, tinted with amusement reverberated through the cathedral. Frostmourne sank deep into the cold, stone floor, Arthas folded his hands on his chest, sapphire eyes locked onto Fordring's emerald-green. „I must confess you were not altogether unexpected." mirth curled the undead prince's lips. „I hope you find your final resting place... to your liking."

Apprehensive, brows knitted together, Fordring drew the Ashbringer from underneath his cloak. His mind was set. Green eyes flickered between Arthas and the heart.

„You sound a little too confident. Especially considering the way our last encounter ended." he retorted in what he thought was a bold and daring tone.

The Lich King laughed derisively, gloved fingers now coming down to dance at the top of Frostmourne's hilt. Did this arrogant paladin truly think, he had forgotten what hapened at Light's Hope Chapel? Brightly glowing eyes narrowed playfully. „The last time we met, you had the advantage of fighting on holy ground. You will find that our situation has been... reversed." the words came out but a purr of a cat, toying with it's food before eating it.

The paladin had no intention of letting Arthas know about his partial agreement with this statement. With any luck, it does not matter where they stand as long as he is able to reach the heart.

„That might be," he noded slightly, glaring into the bright blue eyes of his enemy. A strange chill ran up and down his spine and he supressed a shudder. „But I do not need to stand on holy ground to run that disembodied heart of yours with the Ashbringer."

And to strenghten his threat, he griped the sword's handle firmly in both hands. This has to work! If it does, the nightmare ends here!

„I call your bluff!" the Lich King snorted, pulled Frostmourne out and pointed it's tip into Fordring's face. The two swords vibrated, as if tempting each other to make the first step. „You are a paladin after all. Your obsession with redemption goes beyond the inane. You surely would not destroy the humanity's only chance to redeem its most wayward son. You would sooner die!"

„The heart..." Fordring regarded the little frozen object in the High Invoker's hands with mixed feelings and realized, there is no other way. „The last remnant of your humanity. I had to stop it from being destroyed." He admitted more to himself than anybody else, thoughts swirling wildly in his head. ‚_Distract him and strike!_'„I had to see for myself." _‚Just a little bit longer! ‚_„And at last I am sure... only shadows from the past remain. There is _nothing_ left to redeem!"

And as he spoke, Highlord Tirion Fordring charged forth, bringing down the Ashbringer's blade to cut the dead, frozen heart. High Invoker's headless body dropped to the groung and a shock wave spread out, hitting the Lich King with such a force, he was thrown off his feet, landing a few meters away - but still alive. Sort of.

Now to play his little performace.

Arthas dropped to one knee, ignoring a cold bit of dissapointment in the pit of his stomach. Regret -known only to him- reflecting upon a smile on his lips, he prepared to amuse the audience, staring at Fordrins body, now lying motionless where his blade had hit the heart.

He did not look so confident anymore. Pity he still lived. Arthas could not help to wonder what would have happened had Fordring died.

He took a deep breath before spitting out all the theatrical nonsence he had prepared for this occasion and suddenly a veil clouding seemed to have lifted, even though he was not aware of it's existence untill now. And it felt like someone ripped all the intestines out of his body, leaving but a husk. A flicker of pain blinked through him, paralysing his senses. So many things now seemed so obvious, he could not uderstand why he did not think about any of it before. Had this heart belonged to him, he would be dead. But it had not. It was... hers!

He cried out in great, genuine anger and pain.

Convinced that the Lich King's rage comes solely from his being wounded by Fordring's attack, the disguised Crusaders finally moved to protect their leader, prepared to defend him with their lives.

Arthas could not think, could not see, could not move. His breathing was heavy and he felt like he was about to suffocate within the confines of his saronite armor. However, this was hardly any excuse to screw everything up and so he decided to turn the anguish to his advantage. He will not let them take away the last precious thing he had left without putting up a fight! But it did not give him the so much needed strength. His body felt like it was made of lead, stubbornly refusing to move let alone stand and fight.

„YOU... will pay for that, old man." he grunted, his voice trembling. He may not be able to, but there were others who can and will fight in his name. „SLAY THEM ALL!"

As feeling and strength began creeping into his numb body again, the only wish floating through his frightened mind now was for all this to be over as quickly as possible. He wanted to return to the Citadel. Even though she decieved him, controled him possibly the whole time, he wanted to make sure his intuition had been wrong and Keri'el is watching him right now, admiring his acting, although this could not be called acting at all.

However this one luxury was not supposed to be granted to him.

Abide by their master's command, the cultists swooped down upon the handful of Crusaders, making a circle around Fordring. A fierce battle broke off and in the midst of all the clanging and crushing of bones and metal a familiar voice reached Arthas' ears and he went rigid, eyes growing wide.

„I hope you fellows do not mind if we crash this party. I brought some old friends with me!" laughing madly, Thassarian, the death knight charged straight into the middle of the battle, followed by a small army. The traitors, Knights of the Ebon Blade, have come.

One of them, however, did not follow his comrades. Instead he slowly approached the Lich King, wary of him, yet daring Arthas to just try something. To give him a single reason for taking his revenge here and now.

„Are you hurt, _master_?" whispered Darion Mograine maliciously, so that nobody except the Lich King could hear him.

A strong surge of hatred rose within Arthas like a tidal wave, washing away everything else for a fracture of a second. He looked up into Darion's cold, glowing eyes. There was nothing but pure loathing radiating from him. Only by letting Keri'el back into his mind, the undead prince resisted the urge to cut the smirk out of the death knight's face now that he knew he could. Maybe if he did just that, it would ease the pain. To channel his feelings into violence...

Mograin snorted and spat on his former master. „Pathetic!" voice dripping scorn, he turned away from the kneeling figure. The fighting raged with renewed intensity now that Fordring's forces were boosted by his own men. But it had already taken far too long and there were still many of the Scourge left and much more coming, he was sure of it.

„We do not have time for this!" he shouted over the glamour of battle. „Quick! Through the portal! He will not stay down for long!"

It seemed as though the only thing Mograine came here for was to save ' gloved hands clenched into angry fists as he watched it all, bound by the promise to his elven lover.

They picked up the Highlord's body and jumped through the Deathgate Darion had conjured, one after the other.

Only three of them remained behind just long enough for everyone else to escape. Darion himself, Thassarian and Koltira Deathweaver.

„Looks like whatever Tirion did put on some harm on the Lich King. Too bad we can not finish him off." sighed Thassarian with a look of a small child, eager to unwrap his christmas present prematurely.

The terrible struggle overwhelming Arthas' senses intensified at that point. It took every bit of his self control to prevent him from showing just how hurt he actually was. That and Keri'el's voice, echoing through his mind:

‚_If you do something stupid again, 'twill all be meaningless, understood?'_

Yes, he was very well aware he needed to follow the carefuly prepared scenario of hers to ensure there will be a future for Azeroth after he is gone, however on the other hand his rage, pain, dissapointment, guilt and perhaps cowardess too... everything within him ached from longing for freedom and prayed for Mograine or anyone else to end his torture while they had the chance. But for them he was just a monster. Why would they give him the peace of death when he did not grant it to them? But maybe... just maybe...

Small flame of hope, still burning inside Arthas' chest finally crackled and died when Darion put his hand on Thassarian's shoulder. „Patience... we will get our chance soon enough. Be content that for once, it is Tirion who is in our debt."

Koltira snorted loudly somehwere just out of sight but did not challenge the argument.

Seeing his promise of release leaving infront of his eyes, Arthas felt an aching need to make them end this so strongly, he began loosing control.

‚_Do not... do... anything stupid... Arthas!' _ exhausted, heavy voice caressed his conciousness. _‚'Tis crucial that they know... that they are... prepared... to accept...'_

A sharp dagger pierced his chest, the tone of that voice spreading within him like a poison. Hearing it, Arthas knew he was never going to see Keri'el again. And at that moment, the desire to die himself rose up within him with renewed strength, throwing every bit of caution to the wind. He lost Jaina and now another woman he held most dear and both out of his own selfishness. He could not –he will not- take it anymore.

By sheer power of all his will, the Lich King forced his limbs to move and slowly, he stood up, prepared to unleash his fury upon those, that have cost him so much. And in that moment a presence filled his body, rendering him immobilized once again and he saw Koltira and Thassarian dissapearing within the portal as if from behind a curtain. Last mocking smirk was all Darion Mograin spent for him before he too stepped through and vanished. And the presence left with him. It was too late.

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**Notes:**

**First, Tirion's Gambit is an actual quest chain in Icecrown (you can watch it on youtube) and it starts with your character meeting a blond boy named Matthias, who is supposed to be the part of Arthas' soul still resisting the Lich King. He will lead you to a place where Arthas cut out his heart after he had merged with the Lich King and threw it off a cliff where you can actually see the memory of him and find the thing somewhere in the snow. As you report to Fordring, he has the bright idea this can be exploited (f*cking old fart!), the Lich King decides it would be better to bring the heart to safety before something happens to it and this is where the fun begins :)**

**Second, all the things that happened in the Citadel of Darkness and the dialogues between Fordring, Lich King, Darion and the others are taken from the quest as it is, I did not change a thing about it (except the one where Darion makes fun of the Lich King and spits on him...) :) And also the Champion of the Argent Tournament refers to your character :) And the Knights of the Ebon Blade are an actual faction of death knights led by Darion Mograine :) **

**Third, in the game Arthas' health (which is f*ckin' enormous) actually dropped about two thirds when Fordring hit the heart with Ashbringer (...lame if you ask me since the Lich King should be the most difficult boss in the game Y_Y) and at the end as they all entered Darion's Deathgate, the Lich King actually started casting a spell called ‚Lich King's fury'... (unfortunately at that point, I decided to run as well just to be on the safe side :D)**

**P.S.: If you don't understand something, don't hesitate to ask ;D**


	4. The Knight and the Dragon

**Hey, I'm back :) Did you miss me? Okay, I'm joking...**

**Anyway, new chapter is out and I hope you'll like it and those of you who play World of Warcraft would probaly recognize the places mentioned :)**

**The italic is for flashback, though it's a bit long one, but there is a story behind it :) Reviews much appreciated!  
**

**Enjoy!**

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**The Knight and the Dragon**

It has begun. Tirion Forgring recovered quickly from their last encounter within the cold walls of the Cathedral of Darkness and his determination to end the Lich King's reign strengthened, dangling almost on the verge of obsession. And his was not the only one.

Arthas watched calmly, silent amusement glittering in his bright blue glowing eyes at Horde and Alliance forces attacking strategic posts of Icecrown Citadel's defences – Forge of Souls and Pit of Saron. He could not even make himself act surprised or angry at the amount of losses withing the Scourge's ranks, not that his army did not grow with each slaughtered enemy. Not even when one of his generals, Lord Tyrannus together with his faithful pet frostwyrm perished under the relentless onslaught, ought to bring about the end of that which has plagued Azeroth for so long. That man had it coming anyway. Loyal soldier, yes, brutal in his ways –which served as a bit of a bonus- but Tyrannus refused to let go of his cockiness and arrogance even in undeath and sure enough, it turned out to be his ultimate undoing.

Thumbing the Lich King's helmet, Arthas leaned against one of the four icy spikes, reaching up to the clear, red and golden sky along the edge of the Frozen Throne chamber, his cold, sapphire eyes fixed on the burning horizon. There hovered the flying city of magi, high above an ancient elven ruins of what was now known as the Crystalsong Forest, seemingly supported solely by white, sheep-like clouds, hiding the large chunk of stone and earth that was the Sewers, spreading far and wide underneath the city itself even before it was raised from the ground of Alterac Mountains to be rebuilt, more magnificent than ever before in defiance of it's destruction by the demon lord Archimond so many years ago.

Arthas' thin lips curled up in a smile as he remembered why the mages decided to move the city here, to the very doorstep of the blue dragon Aspect Malygos' domain. For once their intentions had nothing to do with the Lich King. On the contrary, the sole purpose of Dalaran being rebuild and kept floating over lush forests of crystalline trees was to anger Malygos, the Spellweaver, Lord of Magic who felt mortals unworthy of wielding the arcane powers.

If Arthas tried harder, he could probably make out silhouettes of the many blue dragons, guarding the Ley Lines, transferring all the magic from the world around them to their master's lair - the Nexus.

Smile faded slowly, however, as something else drew his gaze. The Violet Citadel. The tallest tower of Dalaran, glittering and sparkling in all shades of pearly white and purple against the gold and crimson colored skies at dawn. It brought back so many memories. Pleasant and otherwise.

Arthas forced himself to look away. He did not want to think about Jaina and their adventures within Dalaran's many colorful gardens, glittering streets and walls breathing with magic filling the air and hearts of many visitors with peace and wonder. Even the memory of Kael'thas' face when he had once seen them kissing in a shadowy corner near the library, could no longer lift the boulder inside Arthas' stomach. Not when he knew that it would all have been different, had the elf lost his cotrol –as he expected him to- and turned the human prince into a pile of smoking ashes for stealing a woman he had his eyes set on. One, he may have even been in love with.

Woman... _he_ _had_ loved...

Another set of images flooded Arthas' mind and he would give anything to be able to think about Jaina and Kael again.

Nearly a month had passed since that day, yet Arthas still kept reliving the events following the encounter with Fordring over and over again, thinking whether or not something could have been done differently. And now again, more unwelcome then ever, the memory forced itself into his conciousness...

... _He kept running through the halls of Icecrown Citadel, searching frantically for any sign of Keri'el. She was nowhere to be found. Like a drowning man clutching at a straw for his dear life, Arthas stormed inside the study, where they had said their goodbye, rummaging through drawers and books and rolls of parchment before spotting a glitter in the corner of his vision. He picked up a dark violet glob, lying on a vanity. The only thing left of her. The fact, that the magic she used to transform the place still existed must have had some meaning. _

_A gust of wind washed over him the moment he touched the thing, followed by blinding light as the orb burned brightly and rose inches above his opened palm. And when he regained the ability to see, he was no longer where he had been moments ago. Not even anywhere near the place. Snowy white brows knitted together as he looked about, finding himself in the middle of a vast grass field, standing under a giant tree. Its leaves rustling, whispering in the wind. A strong fragrance of exotic flowers hit his nostrills and he could not help himself, taking a deep breath. This place was... he could not find words to describe the sensation. It made him feel... what exactly? Yes, it made him _feel_. He was alive. He was himself. He was... human. Arthas closed his eyes, face held out to the breeze. It swooped around him, playing with long white mane, glittering now like a freshly fallen snow in the golden sunlight. Scent of life, blossoming all around him -red, orange, pink, violet, blue... all the colors of the rainbow surrounded him, called to him, coaxing him to lay down, fold hands under his head and succumb to the inviting arms of dreamless sleep he had been denying himself for so long._

_Arthas resisted with great difficulty and turned his eyes away from the flower bed in bloom. In a distance there were mountains, enclosing around the clearing as if trying to shield it and everything withing from the ouside world. This place seemed vaguely familiar. Arthas felt the same sensation as the first time Keri'el appeared – the answer laid at arm's length but whenever he attepted to reach it, it slipped right through his fingers._

_The breeze suddenly shifted and Arthas embraced its gentle touch on his skin. Like a lover, it caressed his handsome face and something about that feeling reminded him of Keri'el's soft hands. As if someone ordered him to do so, he blinked... and there she was, wrapped in crimson and gold velvet curling around her ankles, feather-light cloak and loose strands of firey hair billowing behind her. Beautiful, like sun rising over Lordamere Lake, Keri'el walked towards him, slowly, gracefuly and where her bare feet touched the grass, more flowers sprung from the earth and blossomed with life._

_Arthas frowned slightly, he had this close-to-the-truth notion he could not properly explain. _

_And then she paused and he saw her smile softly and wistfuly and the sight felt like something ominous lurking within his body, settling itself in the region of Arthas' Adam's apple. He stretched his arms to embrace her, to find out if she was indeed as real as she seemed to be and her smile faded as she stepped back without a word or a sound._

_Puzzled, Arthas looked into her eyes. They were different somehow. Not the blue, brightly glowing eyes of a death knight, but a very unusual mixture of ruby and gold, pupils vertical slits. Finally his mind grasped the truth, just a few moments before he was -yet again- blinded by dazzling flash of light and all he glimpsed were her features, prolonging and changing. Limbs curling in odd angles, fingernails growing and sharpening, skin hardening, cloak and hair joining to make out a pair of leathery wings while her body grew in size, soon exceeding his own by far._

_And then it was over as quickly as it had begun. Arthas gasped. Even though part of him already knew, his mouth nontheless fell open. _

_A huge, magnificent, ruby-red dragon stood there on the very spot Keri'el occupied only seconds before. Its scales glittered in the sunlight. Horns, embroidered with what looked like golden jewelery, growing out of it's head and running down it's spine to the very tip of it's tail. The dragon's shiny, black claws were each the size of Arthas himself, long, slender snout barely inches from his own face. Silvery smoke came out of it's nostrills as the beast spoke._

„_This is what I am." It had said in Keri'els voice. „What I used to be. My name is Karaelstrasza." _

_With a lonely look of her lizard eyes, reflecting intelligence, wisdom and experience of ages, she stretched her wings, stretching from over the treetop almost to the foothills to their right before folding them again, sitting on her strong, hind legs._

_There was a moment of awkward silence, when they only stared at each other, unable think of anything to say. Arthas frowning under the scrutiny of a pair of bright, flaming eyes. Was this supposed to scare him off? That he had shared not only bed but his own being with a dragon? An undead dragon at that? Lately, however, there seemed to be very few things that could surprise him and even less able to freak him out. He was the Lich King, the General of the Damned, after all. _

_Brows knitted together in a frown, mind set, face determined Arthas looked full into the lizard-like face. This time, he is not going to dance to her tune. No more running away._

„_Am I supposed to run for my life now?" his own raised voice surprised him. He felt a hot, short surge of anger for no particular reason. „This is what you expect, no? When one sees a dragon, one should take to his heels."_

_She did not answer. Arthas rubbed his temple with a sigh, the anger slowly fading away. _

„_I have to admit there were some things you said that did not quite correspond to my knowledge of the high-elven race. But you can not honestly expect me to start screaming like a little girl and run for the hills. Maybe most humans would do such a thing... but not me. Not after what we have been through." the words sounded much better in his head. Arthas could not help himself thinking about those lovey-dovey novels his sister used to read all the time. He always despised them. _

_The dragon's head lowered, so that he could now clearly see the slightest flicker of her scales. „Basically all you want to say is: I am head over heels in love with you." she laughed in a booming voice that strangely echoed through the air and watched his ears turn slightly pink. Then she sighed and her words once again had a sharp, serious edge to them. „When we love or hate‚ 'tis for all eternity. However, I would never have expected such strong bond to form between one of us and a mortal. To have feelings of this magnitude should not even be possible for your kind. I am... startled by the turn of events." _

„_What can I say? Everyone kept telling me these passions will be my undoing!" he winked and grinned, overcome by happines such as he had not experience in years._

_Sudden urge made him reach out with his hand and touch her soft, crimson snout. It was surprising that with all the hardened, impenetrable scales that made dragons such formidable oponents as well as favourite prey for treasure hunters foolish enough to think they can take on something so royally tough to kill, this felt more like patting a horse. Smooth, soft and warm. A preposterous thought flashed through his mind. What it would be like to have a pet dragon?_

_Suddenly, Karaelstrasza nugded him and Arthas stumbled, his train of thoughts forcefuly severed. It was already too late for any kind of defense, when he saw jaws full of spike-like teeth closing in on him and in the back of his mind a self-preserving instinct told him to roll out of harm's way. There was nowhere to escape, however. Huge black claws blocked his way on both sides as the dragon pinned him to the ground. Arthas shrunk himself to fit underneath a huge, front leg, though being crushed seemed no better then being eaten. And then, as unexpectedly as he was slammed to the ground, Karaelstrasza lifted her paw, watching the small human clinging onto one of her fingers, tooth and nail._

„_Found you!" came out a voice. She seemed to be enjoying herself a great deal._

_Despite the fact that he had absolutely no idea what was this all about, Arthas laughed. A huge, glitering, gold and ruby colored eye filled his view as she held the petite creature dangling before her lizard-like head._

„_Now I am supposed to start screaming and run for the hills, right?" Arthas asked matter-of-factly and peered down to calculate if the fall would break every bone in his body with or without killing him in an instant. _

_He did not fall, however. From a close proximity, the prince could see a ruby snout coming closer again, the dragon's teeth bared in a broad time Karaelstrasza's strong jaws closed around him. In the gentle gesture, like mother returning a runaway youngling back inside the nest, she lifted him onto her back._

_Arthas almost slipped down one of her giant scales, as she spread her leathery wings again, reared up and bounced off the ground, leaving two enormous foot-prints in the emerald green grass Wind pressed him against the dragon's body as she soared ever higher into the sky. He gripped his arms tightly around the nearest horn, slipping his legs underneath her scales. _

„Now _you are supposed to start screaming and hold on for your very life!" she laughed in that booming voice of hers and made a huge circle for him to get a good view. _

_Never before had he felt so insignificant and so small. Riding on a back of a dragon, the size of Sindragosa herself, Arthas could feel the taste of true freedom. Now, from high above, he recongnized the great tree and vast space of Ruby Dragonshire. However as they were getting further south, the land became less and less familiar. Snow, dead trees and long abandoned, half-buried ruins were gone. Instead there were cities and villages of stone and wood scattered across the lush forests as far as an eye could see._

_Somehow Arthas knew this was how Azeroth had looked like ten thousands years ago, before the destruction of the Well of Eternity. One giant continent inhabited by night elves, furbolgs, dwarves... It felt like he now became a part of history. He remembered Karaelstrasza teaching him the legends of the ancient races, but he would never have guessed she could have actually been there when it all happened. And how did they get here now?_

_He asked and she explained calmly, her voice resonating in his mind, this was the inner world of her soul. She wanted him to know where she had come from and why and could not bring herself to tell him directly before she died, occupied with so many things, there simply was not enough time. But now she will make everything right._

_And so they talked for hours. No words, just images, emotions and a gentle flow of her thoughts inside Arthas' open mind. She had told him about the abduction of the Dragon Queen Alextrasza, which led to the long-lasted enslavement of the red dragonflight and how the remaining dragons recognized the work of an ancient artefact known as the Demon Soul, forged by a fallen dragon Aspect Neltharion ten tousand years ago. How her brother, Korialstrasz –posing as an archmage of the Kirin Tor- revelaled that Deathwing himself had been pulling the strings all along, hiding among nobility in Lordaeron's capital behind the visage of the famously charming Lord Prestor, working his way up by persuading Terenas to give him his daughter's hand in marriage. Arthas felt relief that in the end his father did not make that fatal mistake, remebering how miserable Calia was when he ordered her to marry a stranger she did not like in the slightest. Although a princess marrying a dragon sounded almost like a fairy tale._

_Karaelstrasza's story turned to her almost getting killed when trying to take on Deathwing all by herself. For she lost her mate as well as all of their younglings to the aspect's madness and only the intervention of her brother and his human friend Rhonin prevented her from throwing her life away for nothing. And when Alextrasza was freed and Deathwing shut out deep within the fortress of Grim Batol, the existence of Keri'el, the high-elf was no longer necessary. So she left Lordaeron and its young crown prince and returned to her own kind, never, however, taking another mate or having any other offspring._

_And then the Scourge came. And it was then when she fully realized the strength of the magical bond between herself and Arthas. The ancient magic of life her kind possessed saved her from loosing her mind to the Lich King's whispers, but since she could no longer stay with her brethren either, she followed Arthas to Northrend on both occasions –when he recovered Frostmourne and when the Lich King recalled him to ensure their survival- and stayed hidden deep within the labyrinths of old Nerubian kingdom, using the bond between them to store the soul of Arthas Menethil to save the prince from his fate. _

_They began loosing height. Arthas -pondering what he had just learned- slid back a few meters before grabbing firmly on one of the dragon's scales and almost falling off her back again while she landed with a thud on a darkened seashore. No... it was not a sea. _

_Arthas's feet hit the ground and he walked toward the edge of the bank. It was not because of the darkness around, these waters actually were pitch-black to begin with. And from a closer look he realized the substance had nothing to do with water at all. It whirled and spinned, forming a tiny maëlstroms, violet lightning hitting its surface here and there every few seconds, though there was no storm. Arthas looked up to the sky. He could not remember when it had turned so dark and unwelcoming. _

_When he turned his eyes on his companion again, however, there was no sign of the dragon. Instead a high-elven woman stood there, frowning, looking into the black lake's depths. _

„_The Well of Eternity." she said bitterly. „The heritage of the Titan Lords and the doom of Azeroth." Her eyes met with Arthas'. „This is where we say goodbye, my prince. You know what you have to do now." Keri'el drew closer to him, a soft, sweet scent of flowers made Arthas' head spin. Her right hand touched his cheek and their lips met. The kiss was tender, yet demanding and he could feel the jolt of desire in the pit of his stomach mounting as her left palm pressed against his chest. When they parted he found himself breathless. „The might of the red dragonflight stands by your side." Keri'el whispered into his lips. „Use it. Fight for your freedom!" and she pushed him away, hard._

_Arthas stumbled, waved his arms to regain balance but could not prevent himself from falling into the swirling depths of the Well of Eternity. The magical substance enveloped him, closed around him. It filled his mouth and lungs as he tried to take a deep breath before he went down, and formed inside his chest, exactly where Keri'el placed her hand. A sharp, blinding pain shot through the whole of Arthas' body, yet he could not let it out. And as he sank deeper and deeper, crushed by the raw magical energies that threatened to drown him, an image appeared before his eyes – charred body, lying in the middle of a burning battlefield. It's skin was crackled and every fracture burned with a dragon's flame that cleansed the plague that ought to have killed the man. But somehow it did not..._

Subconsciously, the Lich King's hand came up to his chest. It was still there. The rhytmical thumping of a living heart, exactly where it should be, had he not ripped it out five years ago. He could only guess Keri'el had used what little magic remained in her to hide the heart she had brought in the safest of places, for the lockbox was no longer there when he woke up back within the cold, darkened walls of Icecrown Citadel. Nor was the enchanted study itself.

Arthas could still taste the hot, wet, salty tears pouring down his handsome, marble-white face back then, which he could not supress even if he wanted to. His whole body shaking with sobs. Hand, wrapped in leather and metal, fiercely hitting the ice-covered floor -it cracked, adding a fresh type of pain. For what felt like a milionth time back then, he cried his eyes out. And the tears turned into glittering, icy diamonds even before they touched the ground...

That was the last time Arthas felt that way. Karaelstrasza had gone for good and took a piece of him with her. Something that made Arthas vulnerable, though not enough to rob him of his humanity again. Since then, he became the Lich King once more and now he could no longer be swept away by any of the emotions he experienced in her presence.

Or maybe he just shut those feelings out to protect himself from the pain? He did not know. The only thing important is, that any moment now, his enemies are going to march into his sanctuary, hoping, they could find Frostmourne unguarded and they will surely attempt to get as much information out of it as possible. Of course, not even Jaina –especially Jaina- would be so stupid as to touch the runeblade itself. Sylvanas made sure of it after her visit just a few days ago with her own personal army of five. There was no way the others would not know what she had discovered. However, given all the good relations between the Horde and the Alliance, Varian was bound to send his own forces to verify the Banchee Queen's story. He would rather die than trust something said by Thrall or any of his little lackeys. It is just the way the king of Stormwind thinks. Still holding onto the old hatred towards the half-orc that had assassinated his father or anyone of her race.

The little shamanistic powers Arthas inherited from Nerz'hul told him, however, that if Azeroth stays divided, it will only lead to it's destruction. If not by the Scourge, then in the hands of something even more sinister. And there were more than enough creatures still lurking deep within the earth, waiting for their turn to rise to power again.

And as Arthas' thoughts began wandering the fields of wild speculations, sudden chill sobered his tired mind. They have arrived.

The Lich King closed his eyes and he could see them. Seven small creatures, looming from the shadows towards a bright blue column of light, illuminating the Halls of Reflection. From Arthas' perspective, he was the one suspended in midair within it, however the expression of fear, surprise and longing on his visitors' faces told a different tale. They were looking at the cursed runeblade –Frostmourne, revolving lazily high above a pedestal in the middle of the Hall, embroidered with skulls and runes. And what the sword sees, the Lich King sees.

Arthas shivered involuntarily as his gaze fell upon the leader of the intruders. The very last person he would expect –or desire- to meet here.

Ruler of Theramore Isle, Lady Jaina Proudmoore.


	5. Halls of Reflection

**Hello, all :)**

**I am sorry it took so long, there's a lot going on with all the studying and stuff, so there wasn't much time for writing... not to mention several more projects in progress and I just can't do all of them at once... :)**

**Anyway, here it is, the next chapter... Halls of Reflection are one of my favourite dungeons in WoW, though it's hard to find a good group, because nobody seems interested in the story introduction, which is kinda lengthy, though I don't mind in the slightest, it's very interesting ... well, in any case, I've used the actual quotations from the game as always and since you have to fight the bosses, you can't very well see what's going on next door, so I dared to make it up somehow, hope you're gonna like it :)**

**Please don't think of my Arthas as a weakling, try to understand the changes he's going through right now and the longing for release from his cursed existence... he's still fighting with the Lich King within him as well.**

**So, bear with me -I'm trying to stay IC as much as possible- and I'm sorry for any grammatical mistakes you might encounter.**

**Enjoy. Reviews are always welcome as well.  
**

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**Halls of Reflection  
**

The sound of quick, heavy footsteps echoed through Icecrown Citadel, metal against ice and stone as the Lich King strode to where his uninvited guests were already waiting for his arrival, though they did not know it yet. His new heart thumping madly in his ears, Arthas could feel the blood pulsing in his temples. Anxiety, anticipation... fear? He hadn't felt like this in a very long time, if ever. Eyes, glowing brightly blue closed up firmly and opened again. Calloused hands, wrapped in thick, leather gloves clenched and unclenched.

Suddenly, he came to an abrupt halt in front of an ornated saronite gate to the Halls of Reflection. In his mind's eye, he watched the ghostly image of Uther the Lightbringer erupting from withing the Frostmourne, called forth by Jaina's spell. He could clearly see the surprise on both their faces as well as the hungry look with which the blond mage's champions were regarding the revolving runeblade. If it was not for Jaina forbiding them to touch it...

Arthas pushed the door slightly open, banishing the memories of his finding the cursed sword in a cave withing the frozen depths of Dragonblight. He remembered vividly the bewitching whispers coming from it as the runes glowed brightly from withing Frostmourne's icy prison, calling to him, begging for release... Voice of his former paladin master carried to him with a surprising clarity, bringing the Lich King back from his reverie. He listened carefuly to their conversation, waiting in silence for the right moment. Jaina and the others had to know what needs to be done first.

„Jaina, listen to me." Uther sighed with exasperation and if he could, he would probably get hold of the mage and try to shake her back to her senses. „You must destroy the Lich King. You cannot reason with him. He will kill you and your allies and raise you all as powerful soldiers of the Scourge." the urgency and supressed rage reflecting in those words were unmistakable. The paladin could not understand the blonde's faith in her former lover and her determination to understand the motives behind his actions.

Jaina shook her head imperceptibly, face hidden beneath long, golden locks.

„Tell me how, Uther? How do I destroy my prince? My..." her voice finally broke, she could not say it. Not anymore. Single sob escaped through trembling lips and a strange warmth flooded Arthas' body upon hearing those words, he wished she had finished the sentence so much it actually _ached, _though he had long since forgotten the true meaning of the word.

A strong surge of hatred towards Uther, however, crushed the sweet scent of happiness, as it rose up within him like a wild beast, burning his insides as the paladin shouted: „Snap out of it, girl!"

Arthas' hands clenched into angry fists. He wanted to silence that puny little spirit, blabbering of what he knew nothing about. However, his former master continued without mercy or any sign of remorse or consideration towards Jaina Proudmoore's feelings for her betrothed she had stubbornly refused to let go of.

„You must destroy the Lich King at the place he merged with Ner'zhul – atop the spire, at the Frozen Throne. It is the only way!"

„You are right, Uther. Forgive me. I... I do not know what got hold over me." and it was not the meaning of those words, but the surrender with which they were uttered that pierced Arthas' heart like a knife. „We will deliver this information to the King and the knights that battle the Scourge within Icecrown Citadel." and Jaina bowed slightly to the paladin master.

However, the most important thing had not yet been said. And Arthas wished with all of his will it were not true, futile as such attempt might be. It would all be so much easier if the Scourge were to be eradicated to the very last putrid corpse...

Uther's expression was unreadable when he spoke after what felt like ages of silent hesitation, voice calm once again, though more urgent than ever. „There is... something else that you should know about the Lich King." the spirit sighed, his pearl-white eyes fixed into Jaina's sky-blue. The mage's brows furrowed sligtly with apprehension. „Control over the Scourge must never be lost. Even if you were to strike down the Lich King, another would have to take his place, for without the control of it's master, the Scourge would run rampant across the world - destroying all living things." there was a dramatic pause the Lich King thought rather pathetic and indeed becoming of the man Uther the Lightbringer had always been. „A grand sacrifice by a noble soul..."

In the Shadow Throne, behing the saronite gate Arthas' heart skipped a beat upon hearing the last words. Was it just him or had Uther known the truth all along? Could the paladin truly understand or was he just feeling sorry for the next unfortunate soul about to be trapped within the entity that was the Lich King?

„Who could bear such a burden?" Jaina's eyes opened wide and her voice brought Arthas back before he could fully indulge himself in yet another contemplation. Between the lines, however, he thought he could recognize her not being as shocked as she ought to be. Sylvanas must have shared this piece of information as well, it seems.

The paladin shook his head. „I do not know, Jaina. I suspect that the piece of Arthas that might be left inside the Lich King is all that holds the Scourge from annihilating Azeroth." and the fact that Uther could come up with such a theory surprised the Lich King. The old man came closer the the truth than he himself probably realized. Some of the respect Arthas had for his master so long ago, slowly crept back into his mind.

„Then maybe there is still hope..." Jaina clutched her staff to her chest, smiling hopefully.

Arthas' thoughts wandered off again and he was not sure whether he should be grateful for Jaina's faith in him or angry at her stubborn insistence on his redemption. He woke up with a start at that point. Something in the back of his mind nugded him. The time has come to step in before Uther reveals something he should not.

„No Jaina!" Uther's desperate voice got lost in a scream of agony as the far door burst open. He fell to his knee. „He... he is coming! You... you must..."

It was only a split second before Arthas decided to finally make the first step towards his uninvited guests, now focusing fully on the faces suddenly going white with consternation and perhaps a bit of fear as well. After all he did his best to release as much of the bone-chilling aura able to reduce any undead into dust with a snap of fingers as he could. For a moment, all of them were rooted to the spot, staring at the approaching heavily armoured figure of the Lich King himself.

„SILENCE PALADIN!" Arthas' hoarse voice came out from within the ornated helmet, the hatred he felt towards the man he had once called a friend, returning with renewed strength as hand stretched out, banishing Uther's spirit back into the runeblade and the sound echoed through the Halls of Reflection like the voice of death itself. He did not look directly at Jaina or any of the intruders. He felt like he would loose his mind if he did. Become unable to do what needed to be done. Instead he chose to look up.

„So, you wish to commune with the dead?" narrowed, bright blue eyes found Frostmourne, revolving peacefully above them. „You shall have your wish." Arthas raised his hand again and the sword obeyed it's master's command. Gloved fingers wrapped around the handle. If they can not defeat two of his most loyal lieutenats, there was no point in letting them live, he knew that. He had no use for weaklings and even though Jaina was here... „Falric. Marwyn. Bring their corpses to my chamber when you are through." and he turned his back on all of them, retracing his steps back to the Shadow Throne.

However, it would not be Jaina Proudmore, had she let him ignore her like that. Swift clapping of slippers made her intentions clear as she ran after him. And she was not alone.

„You will not deny me this, Arthas! I must know... I must find out..." and to Arthas' delight and horror, she and her pet of an archmage managed to slip through the gate before it had closed, leaving the Champions of Azeroth in the enlightening company of Falric and Marwyn.

Arthas, however, did not stop. His limbs kept moving almost on their own accord as he walked quickly across the Shadow Throne chamber, thoughts now rushing through his mind. Should he grant her her wish? He knew very well that to reveal himself as the one in control of the Lich King would only make things worse. Right now Jaina did not know how much of the man she had once loved remained and still she kept clinging onto the sigle thought -more of a wish than actual fact- that he could be saved. Who is he to confirm her believes just to crush them only a second later? For he was no longer able to become the man she remembered. He could not bare to become _him_ again.

Leading a fierce battel with himself, the Lich King made a last long step through an archway into the heart of Icecrown Citadel and a force -strong enough to send any other flying- pushed him back where Jaina and the archmage stood, frowning, prepared for battle they were determined to enter if necessary.

Arthas maintained balance, but only barely. He should have predicted it. A slight headache made him close his eyes for a moment as he tried hard to think about what to say now, that their confrontation could no longer be avoided. He turned to face Jaina's fiercely glittering eyes. He remembered the look for he had seen it many times during those very few days they were allowed to spend together. Days that seemed almost a lifetime ago.

„I want to know the truth, Arthas!" demanded the mage, knuckles turning white as she clutched her staff, ready to defend herself and her companion should there be any need. „I am not leaving untill..." and suddenly she fell silent, blue eyes widened as she recognized this place. Much darked and colder, however the resemblance seemed too obvious to be a coincidence.

Awestruck, quickening breaths coming out of her lips in white puffs, blood freezing in her veins Jaina looked around. A stone, beautifuly carved throne behind the Lich King's back, dark blue curtains falling down from the upper balconies once reserved for members of the Landsmeet and ambassadors and underneath her feet...

Jaina made a few steps back, examining closely the flagstone. No, the longer she kept staring at it, the more pronounced differences there were. The capital L for Lordaeron missing, instead the carving beared a resemblance to some kind of magical diagram not unlike those used by the demons of the Burning Legion. A small circle of differently colored stone inside a triangle within another two circles, fitting perfectly together to form a kind of mosaic . The outer rim embossed with encircled runes and skulls, all pointing north, towards the great throne. In that moment Jaina felt sure as she had not done in years that Arthas Menthil has to be much more than a mere presence within the Lich King. This place was a proof of that theory. Yet it seemed more like mocking viloation of the original throne room in Lordaeron's palace and suddenly, her faith wavered and she could no longer tell if this was not only some kind of a sick joke.

„I have been willing to give you the chance to do so. You, however forfeited it foolishly." the Lich King's low growl brought Jaina back from her reverie. She started, forgetting for a few second where she was and whom she was facing. „Now pay the price!"

Had she had enough time, she would have cursed herself for her own stupidity, however Arthas made a decision before Jaina could do as much as look up at him. She glimpsed a flash of metal and Blinked out of harm's way just in time. Archmage Koreln, however, had not been so lucky. Frostmourne's blade flew right through the very spot Jaina occupied just a second before. A clang of metal, a sound of something breaking and a cry of pain, forcibly silenced in the middle.

Shocked, breath stuck in her painfully clenched throat, tears prickling in her eyes, Jaina watched Koreln's lifeless body fall to the ground in a rain of blood, clearly severed in half. And after what felt like hours, her gaze rose up to Arthas' armoured face in bewilderment. She could not possibly see anything besides the two sapphires of brightly glowing eyes, however Arthas still had an unsettling feeling of being x-rayed. A feeling he remembered very vividly and one he did not like at all.

Salty drops began pouring uncontrollably from the sky-blue eyes down the mage's pink cheeks. Her face suddenly contorting with pain and anger. With a last fleeting look at the Archmage's body and furrow of her graceful, fair brows, she spat disgustedly: „I will not let you get away with this, butcher!"

And though her rage and sorrow were great and her magical powers more than formidable, Arthas was prepared. When Jaina vanished from perception, he closed his eyes and reached to her with his mind, re-directing the spell so that she appeared with a pop right infront of him, her back turned and she could only gasp in surprise.

„You should have listened to your dear Uther, Jaina." whispered Arthas into her ear, his arms wrapped around her like a set of chains. „Your beloved prince is nothing but an insect, buzzing about day and night. Quite vexing insenct, sometimes, but an insect nontheless." his voice was cold, steady and somehow distorted, though he became suddenly very much aware of the heat of her body creeping under his saronite armor.

„Yes, I should have." Jaina turned her head as far as it would go, staring fearlessly into the cold, brightly glowing eyes. „I know now, you are a monster, Lich King. Nothing more!"

Arthas' grip loosened as the finality of her statement torn something out of the very core of his being. Jaina took the oportunity, slipped her hand into her robes and her fingers closed around a small leather pouch. She took it out and turned it upside down. It's contents swirled around her ankles and covered the Lich King from head to foot in crimson choking ashes. As soon as he let her go, she Blinked away, watching him coughing and spitting before the cloud ignited and burned itself out.

„I underestimated you, it seems." Arthas laughed derisively, lowering his hand, still burning with bright blue flames. „It will not be so easy next time, I asure you."

„I would be dissapointed otherwise." Jaina responded, her staff firmly in her hands, eyes narrowed with determination, though still a little puffed and red.

The two of them began circling each other. Smirk formed on the Lich King's lips. He could not help but admire Jaina, for she had always had great potential. Antonidas himself had said so many times. And her powers developed far beyond what Arthas had hoped since the last they met. It pleased him greatly. This could indeed turn up to be a very intersting duel, he thought to himself as his feet shifted, gloved hands grasped Frostmourne's handle and he lunged forward. The runeblade clashed with a magical barrier she erected around her, its runes glowing bright blue. Jaina raised her staff and each time it hit the ground, a cone of cold hit her oponent with enough power to freeze him to the bone. The Lich King, however, was an entity born of ice, trapped within a piece of Twisting Nether for more than five years and now he called this frozen wasteland his home.

„You should know better than to battle _me_ with _ice_!" he growled, lifting Frostmourne so that it's tip pointed at Jaina's heart.

With the speed of a stag the Lich King charged, but Jaina was no longer there. Another Blink and she appeared on a balcony high above him. Arthas sensed her and turned around, but she only vanished again. Learning from her mistake, she managed to block his attempts to turn her spell against her. Now she was behind him and Arthas moved just in time before a fireball rushed past him, missing by an inch. His eyes followed in as it hit a stone pillar and dissipated. A mistake he realized only a moments later, when his eyes returned to the mage just to see four of them surrounding him. All covered in glowing aura of arcane energy. Magic missiles shot out of their hands and Lich King set Frostmourne horizontally in front of his chest, confident the sword can shield him against the attack. It certainly could, if it was not for Jaina's quick reaction.

Too late Arthas understood the real mage was never among the four decoys. She managed to hide her presence from him and he had only a fraction of a second to whirl about as a giant bolt of fire sped towards him from one of the upper balconies. He raised Frostmourne yet again and the incoming missile clashed with the glowing runeblade. Arthas felt his feet slipping under the pressure of Jaina's spell, pushing him further and further back. Pitch-black aura eminated from the sword in his hands, devouring the burning flames. It spread to the whole of the Lich King's body. His arms trembled under the strain.

And then an explosion shook the whole chamber, obliterating all in its way. It swept Arthas off his feet completely and flung him against a solid wall as easily as one would toss a rag doll. It crumbled and Arthas fell hard to the ground on a pile of rubble. A gaping hole left where his armoured body smashed through the stone, revealing a hidden passage. A gust of fresh air made courtains rustle. He coughed. Dust filling his lungs, threatening to suffocate him. Every single bone in his body ached, a sensation he thought he would never feel again.

Frostmourne sank deep into the ground as the Lich King leaned onto it for support. Shallow, rapid breathing reached his ears. Jaina must have used much of her energy to muster such an attact. Yet, despite his every muscle protesting against any kind of movement, he had not been seriously wounded.

Ignoring most of the pain, the Lich King stood up. „Much better." he purred softly. „But still not enough." a rope of dark-violet energy erupted from his outstretched palm and Jaina was hoisted up and pulled towards him. She gasped in surprise and quickly murmured an incantation so that Frostmourne clashed with brightly glowing magical sphere around her.

The force of the impact had thrown her off balace and she stumbled backwards . That fraction of a second was enough for Arthas to grip his sword more firmly and charge again. Without any hope of deflecting the attack, Jaina held her staff in front of her and prepared for the worst.

And it was probably only that, that had saved her life as Frostmourne penetrated the shield she had conjured, shattering it and hit the staff. It snapped in two, but the resistance threw Arthas' aim off enough for his blade to slid sideways, tearing Jaina's robes. Frostmourne scratched her hip, sinking a few inches into the flesh. Hot, crimson blood splashed the glowing runes and the mage grunted and fell to her knees, clutching the bleeding wound. The two pieces of her staff rolled over the floor, halting at Arthas' feet. His eyes followed the now useles pieces of wood before returning to Jaina. With mixed feelings, aware that he had let himself be consumed by the Lich King within him even if it was for only a short time, he watched the dark, crimson flow of life slipping through her figers, firmly pressed against her hip and dripping onto the cold flagstone.

Jaina bit her lip to supress a cry of pain, she will not grant him the satisfaction of seing her defeated. Sky-blue eyes found two sapphires, shining from beneath the Lich King's ornated crown. „Finish it!" she dared him, something in that fierce look called to him almost irresistibly. „You know, you can not... stop us all. The others will survive... and complete their task."

Without an answer, fighting with all his might to return to his own senses, Arthas slowly pressed Frostmourne's tip to the soft, pale skin of her neck. Unnatural cold emiting from it threatened to freeze her throat even before it could be slit. Jaina closed her eyes, head held high. Never before had she felt so frightened, however she did not intend to give him the pleasure of hearing her beg for her life. If she was to die here, she will die with dignity.

As if in slow motion, Frosmourne finally swished through the air and Jaina opened her eyes with a start as it sank deep into the ground only an inch from her left arm. Her eyes quickly searched for the Lich King's, question burning on her tongue. Why?

Arthas, however, neither looked at her, nor said a word. Slowly, he bent over and picked up the two pieces of her staff, holding it before his eyes, one in each hand as if it was something he found highly amusing. Dazzling white aura enveloped him, reaching for the weapon and it slowly mended. Then he tossed it back at Jaina's kneeling figure, ignoring the utterly confused look on her bloodless face and pulled his own sword out.

„You speak the truth." he said in a low voice, raising his gaze somewhere beyond the ceiling. He could feel it - the sudden silence and emptiness. „Falric and Marwyn have been defeated."

And in that moment, door to the Halls of Reflection slammed open and five figures emerged, panting, evidently exhausted from the fight with Arthas' lieutenants, but still alive and more or less unharmed. They sped towards Jaina, helping her on her feet.

Finding it easier than he had expected, Arthas distanced himself from the feelings Jaina managed to evoke in him, allowing the Lich King to surface once more, though this time leashing him tightly not to lose control. „Your allies have arrived, Jaina. Just as you promised." his voice chilled to the bone. He regarded them all with mild curiosity. Maybe they could play a little before he allows them to leave with what they had discovered here. „You will become powerful agents of the Scourge." and he took an offensive posture.

Jaina shoved off the hands supporting her and stood infront of her Champions, eyes narrowed again, lips sealed tightly. She pushed aside the thoughts of what had happened only seconds before as she and the Lich King measured each other. Pain flickered through her side and she winced.

The Lich King's cloak whirled around his ankles as he advanced on the wounded mage, not with the intention of finishing her off rather than just pushing her aside and have a go at the famous Champions of the Argent Tournament, who had managed to kill the two of his servants he believed the most skilled. He wanted to test their skill for himself. Frostmourne's tip scratched the flagstone in his wake. Jaina's loss of blood, however, was not great enough to slow down her reflexes. Staff raised above her head she closed her eyes and focused most of her remaining energy into a single strike. And with a surpise that had almost thrown her out of focus, she realized other presence, giving her the so much needed energy to cast. A presence residing within the weapon in her hands.

Without any incantation, before the Lich King could do a single thing, the staff hit the ground with a clung and a block of ice formed around him, imprisoning him.

„He is too powerful. We must leave this place at once." Jaina's voice trembled with exhaustion and a little bit of astonishment, though she snapped out of it quickly. Now was not the time to ponder over things. „My magic can hold him in place for only a short time. Come quickly, heroes!"

They ran to a passage made by Arthas' earlier collision with a wall. As she waited for them to step through, something made her look back at the Lich King, encased within a block of ice and her fingers wrapped around her staff, mind unwillingly slipping into the realm of thoughts as she did so. He repaired it and gave it back to her. Why? Why did he stay his blade when killing her would be as easy as snapping his fingers? Could it truly be Arthas who had saved her life? She would like to believe it... Jaina pressed the staff to her chest like the most precious of gifts. The presence within it grew slightly weaker.

„Go!" whispered a soft voice in her mind -voice, she had not heard in years- and the ice, holding the Lich King shattered.

A strong hand grabbed Jaina's shoulder and she was being pulled back, away from Arthas, now persuing her and her companions as they made their way out of the Citadel –or so they hoped. The Lich King's slow, lazy stride, however did not boost their confidence. Nor did the wall of ice, blocking their way.

„There is no escape." his booming voice tingled with amusement. „Death's cold embrace awaits."

The Champions turned abruptly to face the Lich King, weapons at the ready as Jaina herself regarded the obstacle in an attempt to find a weak spot. Brows knitted together, she touched the ice, caressed it with her palm, thinking hard. He could have easily overpower them, had he wanted to, she was sure of it. Why did he hesitate? To play with them like a cat with it's food before eating it?

„I _will_ destroy the barrier." she said in a voice as confident as she could muster, ignoring the growing uneasiness in the pit of her stomach, that had nothing to do with her wound now mended a little with the priest's remaining healing magic so that she could go on for a while longer. „You must hold the undead back!" and - murmuring an incantation- she closed her eyes, chanelling her spell through the presence within her staff, using herself as an amplifier. Green lightning shot from the tips of her fingers, forhead glistening with sweat. The still much painful wound drained her remaining strength at an alarming rate, however Jaina knew she had to endure. Their survival depended on it.

The barrier shattered at the precise moment the last of the Scourge fell. Arthas smiled to himself and followed, still quite calmly the retreating intruders . Would it be too easy to just let them go? He pondered the idea for a moment, then raised Frostmourne and yet another barrier erected between his prey and their freedom. ‚_You are clever, Jaina. I have already put everything at risk back in the Shadow Throne. I cannot afford to do it again.'_

„Another ice wall." Jaina sighed, her hands began to tremble as she repeated the procedure, finally finding a weakness, though it seemed much easier that she would have anticipated, given the full extent of the Lich King's powers. She could not help to find it all odd, somehow. Almost as if... „Keep the undead from interrupting my incantations, that I may bring this wall down!" she ordered her companions curtly, the ice cracking under the shear force of her spell.

Another group of the Lich King's minions have been sent to oblivion. Now, they could all feel the chilly breeze on their skin. The exit was close. The Lich King, however, did not seem to be quite done having fun yet.

„Another dead end." his voice reverberated through the passageway. He strode still more and more slowly towards them, conjuring yet another wall of ice. _‚You are almost at your limit, Jaina.'_

She knew very well she was reaching her limit and it made her resolve strenghten even more and her despair and fury burst out as she growled: „He is toying with us!" and ran her palms along the cold surface of the ice before stepping back a little. „I will show him what happens to ice when it meets fire!"

A burst of golden flames erupted from her outstretched hands and Arthas remembered Jaina's beginnings with fire magic -her least favourite of the magical arts. She had told him once that the first time she tried to use it a book caught on fire. A book held –at that moment- by none other than prince Kael'thas Sunstrider. Since that moment, Jaina always made sure to practice near one of the founains at Dalaran's courtyard, just in case.

Slowly, the ice melted. A hole formed where her flames were strongest and it grew bigger the longer she focused on it. Jaina's whole body was now shaking with effort and when she staggered, about to pass out from exhaustion, the ice strenghtened again, if only a little bit.

„Your barriers cannot hold us back much longer, monster! I will shatter them all!" the mage's voice trembled, breathing shallow and quick. Arthas admired her willpower. Reaching the very bottom of her abilities, Jaina still managed to hold on. He would not expect anything less from the woman he had known since childhood. Woman he had fallen in love with so long ago.

Hands clenched, he closed his eyes for a moment and the last obstacle gave in to the force of the bursting flames. Arthas smiled. She would not notice this small interference. After all, he knew his own palace much better than they did.

Encouraged by her apparent success, although still on the verge of collapse, Jaina leaned on her staff, right arm around the neck of a human paladin beside her. „There is an opening up ahead! Go, now!" and they ran for their lives, the Lich King at their heels and finally a cold gust of wind welcomed them as they jumped out to the ever-lasting chill of the frozen wasteland of Icecrown.

Only the paladin's strong arms prevented Jaina from falling to her knees, however, as they rushed out only to find themselves jumping from a frying pan into the fire.

„It... It is a dead end." the mage whispered in shock. They were standing on a rampart, high above the Court of Bones, long way down before them, Lich King closing in from behind. There was no way they would be that unlucky!

Jaina sighed, fighting back tears of pain and dissapointment. They were so close... „We have no choice but to fight." and she shoved her hand inside her robes and took out what looked like a Dalaran sharp, immediately stuffing the piece of food whole in her mouth, she swallowed with great effort. Some of her strength returned, though it was not much. Especially given what they were about to face. „Steel yourselves, heroes, for this is our final stand." the mage used her staff to stand on her own, skimming through incantations in her tired mind, hoping against hope there are still miracles in Azeroth. For nothing less could save them now.

Arthas stopped at the end of the passage, not coming any closer, for at that moment a premonition washed over his mind and suddenly he knew precisely what was about to happen and what he needed to do. Silently, he thanked Nerz'hul for granting him at least a little bit of his shamanistic powers as Arthas devoured the orc in order to take control over the Lich King before raising Frostmourne almost lazily, not quite ready yet to give up the fun, though time was running short. And even though Arthas would never admit it out loud, it those moments, he could not tell whether it was him or the remntants of the original Lich King that made him so eager to fight. He might have been loosing his mind for all he knew, because he had heard himself talking, but was not aware of such words forming in his mind.

„Nowhere to run. You are _mine_ now." The Lich King's delighted laughter made Jaina and her companions shiver. His presence fell upon them like a heavy blanked, soaked with icy water and they prepared themselves -weapons at the ready- for what they feared will be their very last battle.

„FIRE! Fire!" a deafening shout made them all jump with a start and whirl around in a swish of cloaks.

A huge and magnificent, heavily armed and armored ship rose above the rampart, hovering in midair supported by a pair of large turbines, skilfully built into both sides of it's hull directly below a set of guns. Four smaller turbines –unmistakably of gnomish making as well- helped it move back and forth with every slight change of the wind.

Without thinking about what the hell was that thing doing up here right when they needed it the most, Jaina and the others quickly covered their ears and ducked as the Skybreaker's cannons roared and sent four firey missiles swishing over their heads.

Broad grin forming on his lips, Arthas watched the passage around him collapsing. His booted feet shifted –as always prior to performing his favourite feat- and he dissapeared right before a set of massive chunks of rock and ice could squash him into a fine paste, reappearing a few meters furter inside the passage. It's exist and everything beyond now completely blocked up.

And slowly, Arthas took off the Lich King's helmet, heaving a heavy sigh of relief and perhaps dissapointment too. The part of him that was the Lich King raged within, though he remained blissfully oblivious to it's tantrums.

„Now that this has been taken care of..." and he turned around and walked calmly back the way he came, long silvery-white mane and torn, black, heavy cloak bellowing behind him.

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**Jeez... I'm quite proud of this piece. Couldn't tell where the lore ends and my fantasy begins... lol... :) Yes, I'm a terrible person for praising myself like this...**

**Anyway, after the passage is blocked, you stay with Jaina, listening as she keeps whining about her beloved Arthie before you get the chest with loot and stuff and I find it rather boring, since I dislike Jaina very much, so instead I took it from Arthas' point of view... :) Just so you know.  
**


	6. The Beginning of the End

**Hello again! :) It seems we are slowly coming to the end of this little fic... some of you are probably happy to hear that, yes? :) Still reviews are revies, whether good or bad :) **

**Anyway, this took a little bit too long to write, I know, there's so much going on right now and so little time... though this chapter is a bit short and the next one will probably be the last, please have patience and ofc review!**

**Enjoy!**

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**The Beginning of the End**

Placing one foot infront of the other and only half aware of his surrounding, Arthas let his thoughts wander off. Unsettling darkness and intense cold, distinctive for these parts of Icecrown Citadel, did not bother him in the slightest. He got so used to it, he couldn't even remember what it feels like to be warm. Not that he would care much about such trivialities anyway.

His mind skimmed again through the events that had just taken place – Jaina's attempt to collect information about the Lich King, her dialog with Uther's spirit, her duel with Arthas within the Shadow Throne and a daring escape following the defeat of Falric and Marwyn.

Information they have collected here will indeed be needed if there is to be future for Azeroth - the knowledge itself, however, is not going to be enough. There is one more thing that needs to be arranged and it falls to him to ensure it is done when the time comes.

Arthas stopped in his tracks. Excited gurgling carried to him, bringing him back from the inner world of plans and speculations. Arthas knew that sound and he also vividly remembered himself explicitly forbidding its owner ever to come to these parts of the Citadel again. He let out an irritated sigh. After all it was only a matter of time before curiosity got the best of that damned Forsaken.

Stepping silently along the ice-covered walls, though being stealthy wasn't his intention at all, the Lich King continued through the corridor illuminated dimly by only about half a dozen torches burning with cold blue flames casting ghostly shadows over the uninvitingly rotting ground and slipped through a half-opened gate into the lower parts of Citadel dungeons. There were holding cells here, mostly unoccupied - their former inhabitants either fed to the ghouls or draged away for spare parts.

He came to a halt infront of a far-off enforced metal door and leaned onto a wall, listening carefully. The voice, getting louder as Arthas made his way toward its source, now sounded as clear as if its owner stood right next to him. False note of his song scratched at Arthas' nerves up to a point where the only thing he wished for was to kill something just to shut it out. Preferably the Forsaken himself.

Finally the gurgling had stopped and he heard a thump and a clang accompanied by a hurried scuffling.

The cell door opened and something tall and skinny happily danced through on its bony legs, a torch of cold blue flames held high, midnight-blue robes, glitering with silver, falling loosely over its body, giving the creature the appearance of an overgrown scarecrow.

"You seem in such a good mood, Christoff. I almost feel bad for having to spoil it for you." Arthas' voice was velvety and soft and that was precisely the reason why everyone feared it. "Almost."

A gasp, a flash of metal in the dim light and the torch fell to the ground with a clung. Christoff the Forsaken's head rolled over the cold stone floor to join the many variously-shaped skulls already decorating this smelly darkened place, eyes bulging, mouth still opened in surprise with which the final death finally managed to catch up with him. The rest of his body staggered and slid with a rustle of cloth to the floor.

The Lich King cleaned Frostmourne's blade of any lingering pieces of rotting flesh and other bodily fluids still left within the Forsaken's body and sheathed it, his face contorted with disgust as he stepped over the lifeless body, sparing but a fleeting look for it, brighly blue glowing eyes narrowed at a cracking sound of glass under his feet.

„I did warn you about the consequences of anyone's disobeying my orders." and he entered the holding cell, ignoring the green liquid seeping into Christoff's robes and running along the many rifts of the stone floor, bubbling and sizzling sickeningly in the process.

For a moment, the cell seemed vacant, but as he looked into the darkest corner, which spread over almost half the perimeter without any source of light, Arthas finally spotted what he was looking for. There, huddled against the opposite wall lay a figure, dark and somehow oddly shaped, cracks lining its skin burning with orange flames. It looked oddly out of place in this world of ice, snow and stone.

The figure stirred when he approached and there was a clang of chains binding it to its hiding place. Arthas' glowing blue eyes met with a firey gaze.

"Came to overlook you minion's handiwork, have you, Arthas?" the voice was cracked and tired, though still very familiar.

"Save your breath, paladin, you are going to need it." the Lich King only said, looking around as if searching for something, then his eyes once again found their burning counterparts. "I came here, because I have a proposal for you."

The man's eyes narrowed as he considered his enemy with apparent and entirely understandable suspicion. "Excuse me if I do not believe you."

"You do not need to believe me to listen to what I have to offer." Arthas snapped, some of his previous irritation slowly creeping back. The time was running short.

The cell rang with humorless laughter. "I am a prisoner here, am I not?" the paladin said in a voice tinted with amusement. "And you are the Lich King, the General od the Damned himsefl! Why would _you_ offer anything to a lowly creature like me?"

There was a swish of metal and a clang of chains being cut and falling to the ground. Arthas sheathed Frostmourne as quickly as he had drawn it and for a moment there was grave silence filled with only a soft sounds of scrambling.

The Lich King watched as his prisoner rose up to his full hight, caressing his neck and wrists in bewilderment, untill he finally made a few tentative steps as if he didn't believe he would be able to walk and loomed out into the dim blue cone of light coming in through the opened door behind the Lich King's back. He easily matched Arthas in height, though unlike the former human prince, his body was burned and charred like coal, skin chapped and burning with red and orange flames along well-build muscles on his chest, arms and shoulders still covered with random pieces of armour melted into his body by the scorching heat that had claimed his life. His legs and waist, however, still retained the impression of a human clad in plate armour.

He was entirely bald and the black skin covering his head cracked even more as he frowned and opened his mouth to speak. "Why?" was the only word coming out of his burned lips.

"_What_ is what you should ask, Bolvar Fordragon." Arthas stood his ground, his gaze locked with the paladin's. "You can no longer call yourself my prisoner. You are free to go." he motioned towards the opened door. "None of my Scourge will stop you, though there is little doubt they would all fail even if they tried." he stepped aside and waited for a moment, watching Fordragon carefully before choosing to continue when the paladin didn't seem to want to leave. "However you know as well as I do that this world is no longer a place for you. You have nowhere to go, hence I would give you a chance to make your mark for the last time and save Azeroth. Every paladin's dream, is it not?"

Bolvar Fordragon did not move. His gaze traveled along the lines of Arthas' face as if he was looking for something that would tell him what the hell was this supposed to be. A trap? But why? His logic couldn't comprehend the dialogue they were now having. He could see no reason for the Lich King they all knew to come down here. None at all. Unless...

"What do you have to say then?" he asked and the small almost-smile of relief that flickered over the former prince's face surprised him almost as much as his setting him free.

This could be quite interesting at the very least.

o*O*o

It has begun. The Argent Crusade finally found a way into his most sacred fortress. In this very moment, the Champions of the Argent Tournament were gathering within the Halls of Reflection, preparing to strike where they thought they had the best chance of defeating the Lich King once and for all. Let them come. Let them prove themselves worthy of the title – Champions.

Arthas was prepared for them. Sitting on the Frozen Throne, he was watching the unconscious body of former Highlord Bolvar Fordragon -whom his minions had retrieved from the dragon flames, cleansing the plagued ground around the Wrathgate- chained to a pair of slopes on each side of the Throne. He was no longer alive, yet he was neither dead. A perfect experiment. Let us see what effect is the sight going to have on the mighty Tirion Fordring.

And an effect it indeed had. Only few minutes passed before he heard heavy footsteps closing in on his position and a group of would-be Champions of the Argent Crusade appeared on top of the narrow walkway, coiling like a serpent around the Galcier. Tirion in the lead.

Silent and determined, they marched towards the Frozen Throne, heavily armoured so that only few of their faces could be visible under the shining plate or colorful cloth. There was resolution, confidence and perhaps a bit of fear in those eyes that zeroed in on their opponent. It will do them good in the following battle. No warrior is without fear and those who say otherwise do not deserve to be called such.

Fordring stopped at the foot of the steps underneath the Frozen Throne, his green eyes found Arthas', glowing brightly blue, but when he opened his mouth a new image cought his attention. Charred body, chained by the hands and legs to a pair of ice spikes reaching to the sky on each side of the Lich King. Arthas watched as a mixture of comprehension, shock and anger cut across the man's old wrinkled face and suddenly he felt a sneaking sensation of admiration for the paladin's sheer willpower allowing him to calm the stream of emotions. There was only one other he considered able to acomplish such task – Uther the Lightbringer. Arthas shivered imperceptibly as he recalled the memory of his former mentor and did his best to push it as far into the back of his mind as it would go.

"So... the Light's vaunted justice has finally arrived." his deep, husky voice echoed through the hall and he stood up, slowly descending the steps. "Shall I lay down Frostmourne and throw myself to your mercy, Fordring?"

The mocking sound of his own name brought Tirion back from his reverie. He looked again into the cold face of the one he once called brother. Paladin.

"We will grant you a swift death, Arthas." he said firmly and without hesitation. "More, than can be said for the thousands you have tortured and slain." Tirion's eyes darted to the body of Bolvar Fordragon and then back again.

There was no joy in the laughter coming out of the Lich King's lips, once again hidded beneath his saronite crown. It was coarse and chilled to the bone, for Arthas had let the part of him that was the Lich King once again take control, while he waited and prayed for success. "You will learn of that first hand. When my work is complete, you will beg for mercy... and I will deny you. Your anguished cries will be the testament of my unbridled power." he would probably laugh at the ridiculousness of his own would-be selfish boasts. Truly, he would like to believe Nerz'hul to know better than this, however not to look a gift horse into the mouth, it was essencial to provoke Fordring into action.

And the paladin did not fail Arthas' expectations.

"So be it!" he spat and pointed the tip of the Ashbringer at the Lich King's chest. "Champions, attack!" and he charged forth.

However Arthas was well aware of the strength and power of this paladin. He wanted to test the abilities of his champions before heaving his burden onto their backs. Swiftly, he raised Frostmourne above his head and swung it around, freezing Tirion Fordring in a block of ice before he could so much as hold up the Ashbringer.

"I will keep you alive to witness the end, Fordring. I would not want the Light's greatest champion to miss seeing this wretched world remade in my image." the velvety danger in his voice was now evident as he lifted his runeblade, hoping that it would not come to such drastic measures and crossed Fordring's icy shell to face his favoured Champions.

Seeing their paladin master trapped within the ice, they hesitated for a fraction of a second before engaging the Lich King in a fierce, righteous battle not only for their survival, but for what they believed was the survival of all of Azeroth.

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**This is one hell of an epic fight! Ofc it looks kinda different in-game, but writing it word from word would be dull, so be ready for some nice bit of fighting and trick or two the Lich King deffinitely CANNOT pull out, 'cause if he could, it would be very very bad :)**

**See you soon =3 **


	7. Fall of the Lich King

**And here we are with the very last chapter... It's been my pleasure and I am very grateful you people liked it... or liked it a bit :) **

**As pathetic as it may seem, I really cried when I saw the Fall of the Lich King cinematic... Y_Y Though it gave birth to all this bulshit I've been feeding you with :D**

**Anyway, please excuse the grammatical and spelling mistakes, I tried to eliminate them, but still I am no native speaker sooo...**

**And as I said at the end of the last chapter, this is deffinitely NOT what the fight with Arthas looks like (unfortunately)... the only thing he does is swinging Frostmourne around like a club most of the time, calling for adds, sometimes casting a spell or two and it takes forever to kill him... untill he kills you all and you are resurrected again... I must say I didn't see that one coming! Thought it was a total wipe Y_Y I recommend a youtube video... :)**

**Enjoy**

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**Fall of the Lich King**

They were strong. Stronger that Arthas would have expected. And it pleased him greatly. He could go all out on them and the thought of finally fighting with all he had invigorated him. He felt alive. He _felt_.

Frostmourne singing it his hands as he swung it around, eager to consume more souls, the Lich King bore down on the closest Champion once more. This time, it was one of his own – a Death knight.

The runeblade cut through the air as if it was solid, biting deep into the ice... though its prey was no longer there. The sudden overpowering thrill of the fight made Arthas laugh raptorously as his glowing bright blue eyes fell on a mage, breathing heavily while holding the Death knight in her arms. He seemed quite surprised to still be alive. The mage had teleported him out of the Lich King's reach at the very last moment.

For a fraction of a second Arthas considered attacking them, but as if someone could read his thougts, arrow impaled his left shoulder piercing his armor like a parchment. Three more followed its example – one cutting through his right leg, another sinking deep into his midsection and the last one narrowly missing his heart. Arthas cried out as pain he haven't felt in ages shot through him and whirled about to see the draenei responsible ducking to avoid another attack coming from one of undead minions the Lich King summoned to his aid. It fell to the ground barely few seconds later, its head chopped off. Perhaps he underestimated them a little?

Resting on one knee, Arthas councelled with the Lich King within him without letting his control slip even a little bit, clutching Frosmourne's handle with both hands and leaning onto it, eyes closed.

"Frostmourne hungers." he whispered to the runeblade almost lovingly and it obeyed, humming with anticipation and vibrating against the ice.

Three powerful shockwaves sped toward the Champions, knocking them all down quite easily.

Exploiting this oportunity he created himself, the Lich King reached to break the arrowheads protruding from his body and quickly yanked the thin pieces of wood out, one by one, biting back a cry of pain as it came free. Thin icy vapor poured out of the wounds.

Disgustedly, Arthas threw the arrow pieces away before grabbing the nearest undead creature unfortunate enough to survive the Argent Champions' onslaught and crushing its head, thus healing himself. The ghoul vanished with a shriek, devoured by its master.

All Champions, getting to their feet again, watched it, their faces contorted as if they had a very hard time to keep themselves from throwing up right there and then. Arthas heard himself cackle maniacally, thought he was quite sure part of it was the Lich King. After all this was not of the worst things he had done since becoming a monster. It felt quite natural to him. _As you wish then_, he thought. _If it is my true power you desire, I shall not deny you._

"Come, Champions of the Argent Crusade." he taunted them as he stood up, pulling Frostmourne out of the ice. He had had enough of this and felt no need to delay things any further. And if they are not able to survive after all they've come through to get to him, they were never worthy. And he overestimated them. "You have come here for me. Here I am. Now show me your power or suffer my wrath!" with a single swift motion of his gloved hand Arthas dismissed his undead minions, prepared to face the Champions alone, Frostmourne at his side as always.

They did not ponder his motives, moving toward him without further dawdling, though still cautiously forming a half circle so that he could see them all.

_First mistake_, Arthas thought, however then they all attacked at once. Druids turned into bears and cats, roared and charged forth. Death knights and warriors and paladins gripped their swords, axes and shields, folowing them. From the corner of his eye, Arthas saw rogues dissapear from perception and mages and shamans, their hands crackling with flame, lightening and arcane magic, shielding those prepared to heal the wounded.

He growled with delight and a black and blue flames began spreading from the tips of his fingers to the whole of his body, wrapping him in almost loving embrace, filling him with power and Arthas recalled a time when it was the Light that came to his aid as he wielded his old hammer, the Light's Vengeance. Those days were long since gone. Lost along with another lifetime he could barely remember.

Forcing his mind to focuse on the task at hand, dark aura eminating from him, Arthas spun around knocking back one of the druids and piercing lungs of another with a single slash of his blade. His booted feet shifted a little and he vanished right before spells, claws, daggers and steel could rip him apart.

A shriek pierced the cold air of the Frozen Throne, cut in the middle as Frostmourne protruded from an unfortunate warlock's chest, hot vermilion blood splattering the ice and stone underneath Arthas' feet as he yanked it out. Arrows and throwing daggers zipped through the air to avenge the death, sinking deep in to the very warlock's lifeless body the Lich King used as a shield before aiming it at the nearest Champion, knocking him down in the middle of casting a healing spell.

One after the other, they fell beneath the might of Frostmourne and its wielder, their weapons suddenly harmlessly sliding off the chilly saronite armor protected by magic untill there was only one left - a young paladin covered from head to foot in gore, raven hair disheveled, big emerald eyes haunted with the death of her friends, round face pale, quick breath coming out of her mouth in small puffs. Her helmet rolled across the floor. She ignored it, focusing only on her oponent, gripping tightly the handle of a massive two-handed hammer, tears pouring down her cheeks.

"You... will not... get away... with this, butcher!" she grunted through gritted teeth.

Arthas eyed her with dissapointment, the excitement of battle long gone now. He expected better. Perhaps they were not as strong as he thought after all. Though the look of defiance in here eyes made him remember the last person who called him that. Sylvanas. He grinned, even though the paladin could not see it.

Reconciled with throwing her life away for nothing, she did not wait for him to respond and cried out unintelligibly as she attacked once more, her weapon shining, blessed by the Light. Arthas' mind once more wrapped around the memory of his own hammer, shining just like hers did when he, Jaina and Falric fought the undead for the very first time.

Jaina...

Imperceptibly, he shook his head to get rid of his former girlfriend's face and only a fracture of a second later the paladin's hammer hit him with such a force he stumbled backwards. She was considerably strong for a woman... though maybe not for a dwarf. She seized the opportunity, lifted her weapon once more and let it descend again. Arthas leaped aside, now prepared for it and went to offensive. She blocked his attack with a speed and agility he had not seen since his fight with Illidan and he could hear the sound of the weapon swooping down as she swung it just as skillfuly. The Lich King did not bother blocking it, instead he stepped to the side only a little bit and with five carefully measured steps Frostmourne's edge slid down the hammer's handle as the weapon missed him by inches. Now they were back to back and Arthas reacted quickly, his elbow hitting the dwarf hard between the shoulder blades. She toppled over and he turned to catch her around the neck and chest before she could hit the ground, his grip firm like iron shackles. She tried to catch her breath but could not. He grabbed her even more tightly and freed one hand to raise his blade to her neck.

"No question remains unanswered. No doubts linger. You are Azeroth's greatest champions! You overcame every challenge I laid before you. My mightiest servants have fallen before your relentless onslaught, your unbridled fury..." he overlooked the corpses of the fallen and smirked. "Is it truly righteousness that drives you? I wonder." the last words came out but a whisper into her ear and a surprised and angry sqeal escaped through her lips as he cut her throat. Her body hit the ground with a thud.

Standing tall above the whole scene, Arthas looked once more upon the cadavers of now all the Argent Champions with mixture of disdain and sadness and it made him realize something. After what he had just done, he did not wish to become human again, even if someone offered him such possibility.

He had hoped, sincerely hoped that this was the time. That these were the ones. But he was mistaken. They were strong, he couldn't deny that... but not strong enough. Pathetic. Once again so many lives were lost because of pride... He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and opened them again to gaze with fierce determination at the block of ice encasing Tirion Fordring. They may not be fit to defeat the Lich King, however it would be foolish to let their strength go to waste.

"You trained them well, Fordring." Arthas himself was surprised by the cold and scornful tone of his voice. Those words somehow formed in his mouth on their own accord, just like many times before. "You delivered the greatest fighting force this world has ever known… right into my hands." he paused, heavy footsteps echoing through the deathly silence as he stepped across the bodies of Tirion's beloved heroes. "Exactly as I intended. You shall be rewarded for your unwitting sacrifice."

Now standing right in the middle of the slaughter he had just caused, Arthas listened to the Lich King's voice just as he did many times before and raised Frostmourne. Dark energy erupted from the runeblade's tip, enveloping the fallen Champions, gushing through their lifeless bodies. They stirred and disappeared within its embrace.

"Watch now as I raise them from the dead to become masters of the Scourge." he chanted as the words came to his mind. "They will shroud this world in chaos and destruction. Azeroth's fall will come at their hands. And you will be the first to die." a pause as if he thought about the next words. "I delight in the irony." and suddenly he found himself laughing, thought at first he no idea why, it just came to him - urge he could not resist. It felt like he was loosing his mind. However as he thought about it, he understood it truly was the irony of the situation. Those who had sought to bring peace to Azeroth now rising again to become instruments of its doom. He was once like that too.

He pushed Frostmourne's power further, the ritual almost complete. All the Champions now suspended in midair, net of the Lich King's magic coliling around their bodies and they stirred once more, their eyes opening slightly - blank and dead. _Truly a shame, this has been far too easy._

And as if Arthas expressed his regrets for everyone to hear, voice came out of nowhere loud, clear, strong and very much familiar, filled with hope and devotion. "Light, grant me one final blessing." it said and the whole Frozen Throne chamber began to shake. "Give me strength... to shatter these bonds!"

And the Light obliged.

Surprised and perhaps a little bit hopeful again, Arthas turned to its source just in time to see a bright gold column of light smiting the ice encasing Tirion and it shattered to pieces as if made of fragile glass. Now free of his prison, the old paladin looked back at the Lich King and fire burned in his eyes, fierce determination shaped his features as he jumped high into the air, Ashbringer still firmly clutched in his hand and brought the sword down. Flash of light and Arthas glimpsed the dwarven runeblade cutting through the air, speeding towards his outstretched hand. Clang of metal against metal caused the ice beneath the Lich King's feet to crack as the two swords connected. Frostmourne vibrated madly...

... and shattered.

The time seemed to have slowed down at that moment, pieces of the legendary runeblade tinkling against the ice-covered floor. Arthas gaped at the handle still grasped in his gloved hand. Impossible! He could not believe it. Frostmourne... broken? And as the realization dawned at him, he experienced a sensation like no other. Like someone had once again ripped a part of his soul out of his body with such a force he feared it might tear him apart. Suddenly he became unsure of himself, felt incomplete. Lost. Frightened to death. Edges of panic tugged at the outskirts of his mind. Could it be that after all this time...

It took several moments and the sound of the Champions' corpses yet again falling to the ground upon the interruption of their dark rebirth to bring Arthas out of the shock.

"Impossible..." he repeated, eyes glowing bright blue searched for Fordring panting a few feet away, leaning on the Ashbringer, obviously exhausted from using too much energy.

The defiance did not dissapear from his gaze however, quite the opposite.

"No more, Arthas! No more lives will be consumed by your hatred." relief and sorrow reflected in those words and Tirion appeared as surprised about what he had just done as the Lich King himself did.

But the impossible had not yet said its final word.

The scattered pieces of Frostmourne glowed with the blade's final magic, vibrating against the ice still less and less as if mimicking the beating of a dying heart and with the last pulse the sword's handle burned white. Arthas dropped it instinctively and as he did so, silvery wisp emerged to hover infront of his ashen face.

"Free at last!" strong booming voice of Terenas Menethil deafened them.

The semi-transparent eerie spirit of the last king of Lordaeron zoomed high into the air and descended again, towering over the thunderstruck Arthas.

"It is over, my son." Terenas said as their eyes met. "This is the moment of reckoning." and as if those words summoned them, yet more souls escaped from their prison within the cursed runeblade to circle the Lich King like a pack of wolves closing in on a prey. There were hundreds of them, thousands of humans, elves, dwarfes, orcs and many other creatures trapped untill now, consumed by the sword and Arthas felt himself being hoisted up into the air in a whirlwind of white lights.

But he could not see them. He could not even see Terenas calling for the Light to ressurect the fallen Champions or their suprised, shocked and anxious faces as they were snatched from the jaws of death, not to serve the Lich King but to purchase another dawn for Azeroth with their lives.

What he saw were faces – skeletal faces with empty eye sockets surrounding him, staring at him, shouting unintelligibly. Some stronger then others.

A ghastly white image of Uther the Lightbringer came into focus and Arthas shivered under the intesity of its gaze.

"The hell is waiting fo you, Arthas." It shouted and with a shriek, it shot through Arthas' chest like a bullet. The Lich King cried out in agony.

Spread eagle in midair he felt every cell in his body burn. But the spirits' hunger for vengance was not nearly appeased. Another wisp emerged and took the form of a high-elven scout.

"Bash'a no falor talah!" it said and it too bit deep into Arthas' body.

And this time there was something different about it. Through its eyes Arthas watched and experienced the destruction of Quel'Thalas. The Scourge marched across the Ghostlands, leaving only death in their wake, the Dead Scar burned deep into Arthas' skin as though he himself had become the land, the forest, the earth beneath the feet of his own undead army.

And with every other surfacing spirit the pain escalated to the point where any other would have been saved by merciful arms of blessed unconciousness. But not Arthas. They would not let him, for he wouldn't show the same mercy to them.

Instead, he found himself running through the streets of Stratholme. The citizens stood around him laughing maliciously as he, paladin of the Silver Hand, swung Light's Vengeance around to strike them down without success. Time and again he strived to complete his mission, to save his homeland untill exhaustion got the best of him.

As if caught up in a nightmare, awaiting the break of dawn Arthas looked into their faces. His mind went blank, only the strangest words he could possibly remember in a situation like this formed on his tongue. The last verse of a balad Keri'el once taught him. The very same one he had to read over and over again, for what felt like thousand times before she was satisfied with his explication. He hated her so much for making him do it, yet...

"Now I stand, the lion before the lambs... and they do not fear." and now he understood at last the meaning of those words, watching those people around him edging closer. Every hunter ventualy becomes a prey. It was inevitable to maintain the circle of life. "They cannot fear."

With a smile on his face, he gave in to their bloodlust, watching motionless as they swooped down upon him. The agony could not be expressed in words, however he welcomed it, for it accompanied the long awaited liberation from his cursed existence. Also he felt he deserved it.

Arthas did not know how long the torture lasted, but on the very verge of death the spirits finally released him. He fell hard onto the ice-covered ground, the Lich King's helmet sliding off his silky white hair to roll away as he dropped on all four, wide-eyed. Clinging to the remnants of life still left within him, the fallen prince od Lordaeron reached out to take the piece of the Lich King back. He could only think of the need to give it to his succesor. This cannot end without it. He wouldn't let it!

Numbness began spreading throughout his body and for the first time in many years he felt cold. However he couldn't let it overpower him. Not now, not when he was so close. So very close to save his kingdom and its people. If he could reach that thing, the undead plague would be gone and everything would return to normal. The voice in his mind told him so and he had no other choice but to listen to it. Just few more inches... Giving it everything he had without realizing his memory for the past five years had gone and failing to take in the whole scene around him, Arthas reached out with all his remaining will to grab the enchanted piece of armor he was told would save everything he cherished. He could feel it, cold and alive in his grasp... however his fingers never reached it. His limbs could not support him any longer. There was not enough strength left in him.

He rolled onto his back, still breathing but just barely and couldn't uderstand what was going on as he looked up at an unfamiliar stellar sky. It felt as if he was gone for a very long time. The last thing he could remember was the sight of the City of Stratholme, burning with ever-lasting flame and maniac cackling of Kel'thuzad. The rest of it seemed shrouded and somehow distorted as if he just woke up from a dream. And his mind finally cleared. The blue glow dissipated from his eyes as his father's face came into view and the sight warmed Arthas, for if the king was still alive, then Lordaeron...

Terenas Menethil kneeled at his side and Arthas felt warmth as the eerie man's arms wrapped around him. His eyes could barely see the expression on the old king's face. Hand reached to the golden chain around Terenas' neck and gripped it tightly as if to ensure he was real. Sea-blue eyes fixed on the spirit's white glowing sockets, though the couldn't see it.

"Father... is it over?" those words came out without thinking.

He needed to be sure he did not fail his people, because he failed himself by not being able to complete his task. Something touched the back of his hand.

"At long last." Terenas tone softened just as it always did when he adressed his beloved son, holding Arthas' hand and the warmth of the touch could no longer comfort him as the life was fading from the prince's body. "No king rules forever, my son."

Arthas smiled. Or at least he tried to smile, but the appropriate muscles wouldn't listen to him. _Of course father is righ, as always,_ he thought as memories of the past years slowly returned. So it wasn't a dream after all. How foolish he were to cling to the hope that probably... but it did not matter anymore. His journey through this world had finally come to an end and he planted it so that the horror of the Scourge dies with him. He can finally leave things to others now. Coward's way to avoid responsibility, but...

"I see only darkness... before... me." for the last time Arthas' lips moved and he could no longer tell if it was real or just a hallucination.

Life escaping through his grasp as he loosened it on purpose, blackness enveloped his senses, clouded his vision and wrapped around his body, pulling him into the abyss. For him there will be no grand funeral he read about as a boy, held for a hero, a king that died valiantly in battle for his country. He had led a coward's life and like a coward he also met death and lost everything he swore to protect. He did not deserve anything less than what was coming to him

And as he thought so with bitterness he considered himself incapable of, Arthas' blue eyes turned blindly towards the sky, last breath came out of his mouth and his newly regained heart stopped. Hand clutching Terenas' golden chain loosened and fell to the ground as the Lick King... no, Arthas Menethil experienced his final death to be forever remembered as the fallen prince, the bastard that sacrificed everything for his own personal gain...

... and somewhere within the halls of the floating city of Dalaran, Jaina Proudmoore stilled with her hand above a sheet of blank paper, chill running up and down her spine settling itself in the depths of her heart, taking away something she wasn't even aware of untill now.

The blond mage looked up as if she knew immediately what that meant and her sky-blue eyes rested upon her staff. It snapped in two when she fought the Lich King and for some reason he repaired it, projecting something into the weapon and since then Jaina couldn't keep away from it. She wouldn't use it, but nor could she figure out what was wrong with it. Her heart sank even deeper as she looked at it now to see once again the two pieces rolling over the floor and understood this uneasiness coiling through her body.

"So it is finally over... I am sorry, Arthas." and as she bowed her head tears welled up inside her, poured down her cheeks washing away the sorrow and longing that could not be sated anymore. "Goodbye."

* * *

**Here we go :) I don't really like Jaina, but it wouldn't do to leave things unfinished... I hope I didn't forget anything... it's been a long time since publishing the first chapters and I already forgot most of the details... :) Hope you enjoyed this little venture into the world of my imagination and see you again someday :)**

**Notes:**

**Bash'a no falor talah! - **Taste the chill of true death (said by Sylvanas :))


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